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IDLE DREAMS 

OF 

AN IDLE DAY 



BY 



HENRY E. HARMAN, Litt.D. 

AUTHOR OF "DREAMS OF YESTERDAY," "GATES OF 
TWILIGHT," "A BAR OF SONG," ETC. 



1r 



THE STATE COMPANY 

Publishers and Booksellers 
COLUMBIA, S. C. 






Copyright, 1917, 
By henry E. HARMAN 



MAY -6 1918 1 ;>^ 



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©CI.A497198 



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CONTENTS 

I 

DREAMS OF AN INLAND SEA 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I Down the Old Matanzas 3 

II Along THE Famous Halifax ii 

III Along THE Indian AND St. Lucie i6 

IV BiscAYNE Bay and Beyond 23 

V In Lotus-Land 28 

II 

DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

I Springtime at Mildorella 35 

II Close to Nature's Heart 41 

III Golf and the Golfer's Reward 44 

IV A Christmas Eve and a Christmas Dawn ... 50 
V Zola Gordon — An Idyl of Long Key .... 54 

III 

LITTLE SERMONS FOR EVERY-DAY LIVING 

I The Life Serene 67 

II Ideals in the Spirit of Higher Living .... 72 
III The Gentle Art of Being Kind 82 



FLORIDA SHORES 



The white sails fill before an urgent wind 
That blows from o£E some shore of verdant hue; 
God's sunlight falls where sight and vision end 
And makes the dream of other days come true. 

Yon stunted pines bend low against the sky, 
Dwarft for an hundred years by scanty soil, 
Like eager souls, without the wings to fly — 
Held down by want and unrewarding toil. 

A day with wind keen set from Southern shores, 
A day with breakers tossed from East to West — 
A day of sea-life, which the heart adores — 
A day the soul of freedom loveth best. 

II 

Twilight off shore — near-by the mist and maze 
That come with night, and nightly moan of sea — 
Twilight on ocean's sad, mysterious ways 
That leaves its softened glow and gloom with me. 

Tall palm trees frescoed on a sky of blue — 
White gypsie clouds on vagrant errands bent : — 
My boat, the river, dreaming eyes and you, 
Behold my kingdom in a word — " content." 



DREAMS OF AN INLAND SEA 
Cruising Along the East Coast of Florida 



IN MEMORY OF CRUISING DAYS 

Oh! the glory of it all, the freshness and the sting of the salt 
breezes, as I now look backward, down the many miles of inland 
cruising along the Florida shores! 

There looms the vigor of youth in every dawn, the halo of 
exhilaration in the sunshine of each noon-tide and into the shadow 
of everj' twilight the benediction of peace finds its way. 

Oh ! the rest that comes to weary eyes, looking across the far- 
going leagues of peaceful waters and the peace that soothes the 
soul in the quietude of lonely harbors, untenanted, save by our 
tiny craft. 

Here stands out a long stretch of shoreland, from which bend 
the graceful forms of trees, there is a vista of waterway, going 
beyond the reach of vision into the fairj'-land of the ideal, while 
above float lazily, the gipsy clouds, like the shadows of come- 
true dreams. 

There were nights so weirdly beautiful that one protested the 
approach of sleep, fearing to miss some new phase of this strange 
mixture of darkness and silence. 

There were skies so clear and low-bent that the face of the 
calm water became as a meadow of star-like daisies — moving 
only when touched by some perfumed breeze. 

I recall the silence of our out-of-the-way anchorage, so tense, 
that the occasional lumbering of the surf, on the distant beaches, 
seemed like the voice of a god. 

I have never learned to measure the glory of these memories 
and so I have put into this little book a brief outline of what they 
are, as we sailed in search of a dreamer's world. 



DREAMS OF 
AN INLAND SEA 

I 

DOWN THE OLD MATANZAS 

The Charm of Cruising — Four Florida Cruises — Along the Matanzas 
River — Historic Shores — A Port for the Night — The Flowing Road 

Away from the dust of Atlanta, its whirl of busy ac- 
tivities, its noise and its rush, we are tied up here in the 
wilds of Florida for the night — just the happiest little 
cruising party you could possibly find. When we left 
the Terminal station we said good-by to all our cares; 
when we stepped aboard the " Weona " at St. Augustine 
we became close friends of peace and rest and sweet con- 
tent. 

You must know that the " Weona " is our home for 
the next few weeics, a most comfortable cruising yacht, 
52 feet long, with ample deck room, big steamer chairs 
and sleeping accommodations for a party of six, also 
quarters for a crew of three people. She is in charge of 
Captain W. J. Henry, who knows every mile of the Flor- 
ida coast and under his pilotage the trip could not be 
other than safe, and from a pleasure and rest standpoint, 
this is the " only way." 

THE CHARM OF CRUISING 

There are so many people who go every summer, 
when our climate is delightful, to White Sulphur, White 
Mountains, " Atlantic cities," Bar Harbors and other 
resorts " for rest " — and then stay at home in the win- 

3 



4 FLORIDA SHORES 

ter, when our climate can be so trying. Then there are 
those who go in winter to St. Augustine, Palm Beach, 
Miami, etc., " for rest," but return with an increase of 
that tired feeling. If these would learn the delights of 
a cruise in Florida waters in winter, the inland water-way 
of the East coast would be a high-road of pleasure craft 
from St. Augustine to Key West. 

Frankly, a private boat and private party, is the only 
way to enjoy Florida in an exclusive manner, which ap- 
peals to all refined natures, when once this delightful 
mode of travel is understood. On a cruise you avoid 
the crowded hotels, the expensive ones with their quick- 
rich show and pomp, the cheaper ones, with all classes 
of creation to come in contact with. It is the ideal of ex- 
clusive travel — of rest, relaxation and real enjoyment. 
One who has learned its charm will rarely travel in any 
other manner. 

Florida is a place of strange contrasts. The great 
state is free to all and all make use of this freedom. 
For over twenty years I have found in its soft climate 
an asylum from the danger of winter's cold, but I have 
likewise found there every kind of traveler known to 
this country. 

In the big hotels you meet the better people of the 
nation, the people who know life and know what it is and 
what it is like. But in the big hotels you also find the 
other kind also — those who have found fortune quickly 
and know not what to do with their money — the silly, 
spendthrift class, whose expenditures would make you 
ashamed of your own outlay — but whose acquaintance 
you very discreetly shun. 

FOUR FLORIDA CRUISES 

During the last eight years it has been my good for- 
tune to enjoy four extended cruises in Florida waters 
— this present one making the fifth. In the winter of 
1908 I chartered an auxiliary cruiser at Miami, the 



DOWN THE OLD MATANZAS 5 

" Gloria," — a splendid craft for use in southern waters. 
The crew consisted of four persons and there were four 
in our party. We used the inside water-way from Mi- 
ami almost to Key West and back — the weather being 
perfect during the entire two weeks we were out. 

In December, 19 10, my daughter Mildred and myself 
cruised from Ft. Myers on the west coast, down into 
the Ten Thousand Islands. On this trip we had to run 
for over 40 miles on the Gulf of Mexico — there being 
no inside channel from Sanibel Island to Marco Pass. 
We selected a clear day and made the trip without stop. 
For weird beauty the Ten Thousand Island country is 
without doubt the most wonderful section of Florida. 

Four years ago I used the " Florence W " out of Mi- 
ami — cruising in this section of Caesar's Creek, Angel 
Fish Key and the beautiful expanse of that inland sea — 
known as Blackwater Bay. Cruising through the passes, 
on this trip, we had some wonderful fishing over the 
reefs out in the Atlantic. 

Last winter we used the " Weona " out of St. Augus- 
tine, covering part of the same waters we shall cover 
this year in the same comfortable boat, that is going 
from St. Augustine to St. Miami and return, via the 
Matanzas, Halifax, Indian and St. Lucie Rivers, Lake 
Worth and Biscayne Bay. 

DOWN THE MATANZAS 

Late in a gray afternoon of early January we leave be- 
hind us the soft tints over St. Augustine and the " We- 
ona " points her nose southward for a run of 400 miles 
straight down the East coast. 

There is something about the start on a long cruise 
which cannot be told in words — a kind of absolute con- 
tent, a letting go of all tension, a yielding one's self up 
to rest and peace which no other method of travel can 
give. 

We make comfortable in easy steamer chairs on the 



6 FLORIDA SHORES 

upper deck, watch the ever changing river line and note 
at every bend of the Matanzas some new picture of un- 
expected beauty. It is all wonderful — this changing 
panorama — the tall palms, the broad marshes, the dis- 
tant shore line, draped in moss, and to the east frequent 
glimpses of the sea, with its wild spray flying in the air. 
It was up this river that the Spanish pinnaces sailed 
when Ponce de Leon first began his search for the foun- 
tain of youth. Here came the ships that brought the 
early pioneers who started the first settlement in Amer- 
ica at St. Augustine. And up this river for 300 years 
afterwards came the fleets of Spain, France and England 
— all contending for the possession of Florida the beau- 
tiful. 

ALONG HISTORIC SHORES 

There is no part of our United States coast, on either 
the Atlantic or Pacific side, that is so rich in early ro- 
mance and legend as that of Florida. 

One can hardly round a promontory or rest within a 
cove of this long and wonderful coast without the thought 
of meeting some cavalier of the buccaneer days, all 
dressed in the clanking armor of the olden time, when 
this section was the rendezvous of brave and fearless ad- 
venturers. 

Out of the mists, off shore, sail the phantom ships, 
which for over three hundred years haunted this tropical 
region, searching for treasure, which few ever found. 
Beneath these waters sleep thousands. In nameless graves, 
the victims of Neptune's wrath for intrusion Into his 
closely guarded domain. 

The Florida coast is a veritable graveyard of fearless, 
sea-daring men. No record was ever kept of the num- 
berless ships that went down In sight of these shores. 
The wealth that lies beneath these waters would stagger 
belief, if these sunken ships could be raised. In the 
days of the pirate and the buccaneer, vessels engaged 



DOWN THE OLD MATANZAS 7 

in that perilous business took harbor within these coves 
and sounds. Many a craft well laden with spoil, though 
waiting for more, was wrecked and never reported to 
the outside world, no one escaping to tell the tale of loss 
in life and treasure. 

Few of the thousands who visit these shores annually 
ever pause to think of the historic importance which at- 
taches to almost every section. A Homer must arise 
some day to tell the stories which are not myths, but real, 
and when the great epic is written — as it surely will be 
— the JEgean Sea will not rival our own Florida coast in 
historic and poetic interest. Almost every key, sound, 
inlet and bay has its own history, history that is real and 
only needs the pen of genius to create out of it the best 
in our American literature. 

Ahout these coasts the threads of Romance twine 
Along these shores sail crafts like phantoms dim, 
And every breeze that wakes the silent pine 
Sings for the lost its solemn requiem. 

A PORT FOR THE NIGHT 

The mists of the gray afternoon begin to thicken over 
the marshes and over the river ahead and Captain Henry 
of the " Weona " seeks a place of anchorage for the 
night. This is found in a quiet little bay — just across 
the river from Fort Matanzas, which was built early 
in 1700 by the Spanish to protect St. x'\ugustine from in- 
vasion through Matanzas Inlet, which is nearby. This 
old fort, built of coral rock, stands out on the lonely 
marsh like a picture of the past, of the days when the 
Spaniard led all the world in discovery and conquest. 

Perhaps the world has never given the early Spanish 
explorer full credit for what he did in that far-away age, 
so dimmed by ignorance and false conception of the 
world and its boundaries. 

It was the Spaniard who trailed the first path across 



8 FLORIDA SHORES 

unknown and uncharted seas, and gave to Europe its 
first knowledge of new lands, teeming with riches, in the 
West. The brave Columbus stands out in the world's 
history, like some lone figure of greatness, unapproached 
by any other. Juan Ponce de Leon, a believer in myth 
and fable, anchored his ships in the San Sebastian River 
and planted on our Florida shores the first white settle- 
ment in the West and blazed the way for a new civiliza- 
tion, which was to change the history of the whole world. 

The Spaniards who built this old fort here on the Ma- 
tanzas 300 years ago were explorers, gold-seekers, ad- 
venturers, but never developers. This fort was built as 
a matter of protection and not for development. The 
Spaniard came to take away what others had worked for. 
He was the destroyer of nations, cities and homes, which 
centuries of toil had built up. The monuments left in 
the wake of his march were forts and fortifications, de- 
stroyed homes, and a disgusted and outraged people. 
This trail he left through Mexico, South and Central 
America and throughout the West Indian Islands. He 
plundered and carried away, as booty, what it had taken 
centuries to accumulate by patient toil and industry. 

And yet with all of his cruelty — all of his greed for 
gold — all of his vindictiveness when disappointment 
crossed his pathway — we must give the Spanish adven- 
turer credit for carrying into the new lands he invaded 
his school and his creed. The priest and the cross made 
up part of his equipage for adventure and conquest. 
On every shore he set up the emblem of his religion and 
in every settlement he built the church and school. The 
world may condemn him for his cruelties, but must honor 
him for the good his adventurous deeds accomplished. 

As these thoughts were haunting the twilight hour, 
the marsh and shore, and main seemed teeming with 
phantom pictures which had just stepped out of the pages 
of the past, for all of this section is rich in legend and 
historic interest. 



DOWN THE OLD MATANZAS 9 

Darkness settles down, the mist clears away and the 
tropic stars come out in all their glory. Looking into 
the water from the deck, the surface of the river is like 
an inverted sky. Every star above twinkles and dances 
in the water below. Along the shore belated birds call 
to their mates, but for this, all is quiet — save the lum- 
bering waves of the sea, which come breaking on the 
shore, which is separated from us by a very narrow strip 
of Anastasia Island. 

After dinner we have a game of cards until ten o'clock, 
then go on deck to enjoy the glory of the night. It is 
perfectly still, save the laziest south wind that blows 
along, carrying the perfumes of all kinds of flowers. 
We are miles from any habitation, not even a companion 
boat in sight. But the silence and fragrance of this 
night, the murmur of the sea, the glory of the stars all 
fit us for dreams which come to one as nowhere else. 
And when we " turn in " for the night we are already in 
love with the mystery and magic of this life on the water. 

We are up early next morning. There is a delicious 
cup of coffee ready. Then a walk across the island to 
the beach, through palmetto groves, where there is a 
symphony of bird music on every side. As the sea comes 
in view the sun is just lifting above the main — as fair 
a morning in January as ever dawned over the red hills 
of Georgia in June. 

ALONG THE FLOWING ROAD 

The day carries us out of the Matanzas, through a 
long canal, into Smith's Creek, one of the most pictur- 
esque streams in Florida. On every side there are won- 
derful vistas — tall palms in groups, lonely live-oaks, 
wild stretches of marsh, over which fly all kinds of water 
fowl. Then we pass here and there some secluded es- 
tate of wealth, with beautiful grounds and flower beds 
coming down to the water's edge, the home of some one 
weary of the noise and turmoil of business — who has 



lo FLORIDA SHORES 

found in these secluded wilds a veritable Eden of rest 
and peace. 

Where Smith's Creek merges into the famous Halifax 
River, just above Ormond, Seminole Island stands out 
like a picture. All around it tall palmettos lean water- 
ward, and back of these there is a tangle of vines and 
every kind of blooming thing that flourishes in the 
tropics. 

At sunset we anchor at the Yacht Club in Daytona and 
another day of dreams has ended that shall ever be re- 
membered. 



II 

ALONG THE FAMOUS HALIFAX 

From Daytona South — Shell Mounds and Historic Remains — Flat Islands 
of an Inland Sea — Mosquito Lagoon — End of a Perfect Day 

A day with wind keen set from Southern shores, 
A day with breakers tossed from East to West — 
A day of sea-life, which the heart adores — 
A day the soul of freedom loveth best. 

Of all the wonderful rivers in Florida, of which that 
state has more than its share, I think the Halifax the 
most picturesque, not even excepting the St. Johns and 
the Indian. 

From Daytona to the Haulover Canal was a good 
day's run for the " Weona," and during this perfect 
day in mid-winter we had a chance to see the Halifax 
and its many wonderful attractions. To the lover of 
beautiful things in nature this river is a poem, a picture 
— is anything beautiful which you may choose to call it 
and most of the section through which it flows is as wild 
and primitive today as it was at the time of its discovery 
by the Spaniards. 

A few miles below Daytona we pass Mosquito Inlet, 
with its grim lighthouse on the point, around which there 
is a little settlement, for this inlet is famous for its fishing 
at certain seasons of the year. Passing this point we 
get a clear-cut picture of the Atlantic Ocean and on this 
sunny January morning the sea wears all the beauty of 
calm and peace — in which role she can play the part 
so well at times. There is a clear sky above, soft breezes 
coming in from the south and the white sands of the 
beach glitter in the sun as far as the vision can reach. 

II 



12 FLORIDA SHORES 

Mosquito Inlet played an important part in the ro- 
mantic history of Florida's early adventurers — it being 
one of the few inlets along a vast stretch of coast through 
which ships could pass. Some writers credit this as the 
pass through which Ponce de Leon made his first entry 
into the harbor waters of the state when he was hunting 
the spring of eternal youth. Unlike the average Span- 
ish adventurer De Leon was not in search of gold, but 
for a spring, whose waters were supposed to restore the 
vigor of youth. The brave old buccaneer, who had 
made his fortune, along with others, plundering the South 
American countries, believed implicitly in the current 
tradition that a spring of eternal youth existed some- 
where in the West. He was growing old and longed for 
a restoration of youth and manhood which had been 
squandered in stormy cruises across the Atlantic. 

The tropical beauty of the Florida coast charmed 
his credulous fancy and whether he entered the inland 
waters through Mosquito Inlet, or farther up the coast, 
matters little to us. To one, however, who was on an 
errand like his, the grandeur of these palm-bowered 
shores must have appealed strongly, and given new faith 
in his search for the fabled spring. 

SHELL MOUNDS ARE FOUND SOME MILES BELOW 
THE INLET 

The Halifax is separated from the Atlantic by a nar- 
row strip of land. At places this is so narrow that 
from the deck of the yacht one gets glimpses of the 
great ocean at frequent intervals. Sometimes this key 
widens to a mile or more in width and all parts of the 
land are covered with thick tropical growth, vines and 
flowers — all in full leaf and bloom in the mid-winter 
season. 

Some miles below the inlet we pass the famous Shell 
Mounds, supposed to have been built bv the Indians 
before the coming of the white man. These mounds 




" I have fell the very mystery of death itself in 
the silence of these tropical mid-nights." 



ALONG THE FAMOUS HALIFAX 13 

have baffled the students of early Indian life — some of 
the theories being that they were built as monuments to 
their chiefs, others that they served as fortifications, but, 
of course, there is no absolute proof as to what purpose 
they served. At places they consist of immense heaps, 
pyramidal in shape, from 50 to 60 feet in height. These 
are supposed to have served as " lookouts " for the In- 
dians, from the tops of which they could see over a vast 
section of country and the ocean as well. 

Farther down the Halifax a very tall mound stands, 
which is known as " Turtle Mound," one of the most 
remarkable specimens in the state of Florida. This one 
takes its name from the fact that this particular section 
was once famous for the turtles that were found here. 
When the fishermen learned the value of these turtles 
they were all caught in a few years and today only an 
occasional one is seen. 

FLAT ISLANDS WHERE HUMAN BEINGS HAVE NEVER 
SET THEIR FOOT 

Along toward noon we travel through a section that 
becomes wilder and more beautiful at every turn. Some 
of our party had lunch served on the upper deck, rather 
than miss any view of this wonderful river. At places 
here the channel is very winding — at some points the 
yacht has to travel ten miles to gain three miles of actual 
headway. The river here must be at least five miles 
wide, filled with flat islands by the hundreds — many of 
which have never been visited by human beings. Here 
the channel for boats is narrow and must be well known 
or one is likely to go astray. At frequent intervals 
there are government flag poles with a little flag in a 
box below. If the traveler misses the channel and gets 
ashore he can lift one of these distress flags and will be 
rescued by the life-savers, who are stationed a few miles 
away on the seashore. A tall lookout stands on the 
shore, near the life-saving station, and the life-savers 



14 FLORIDA SHORES 

go up on this every two hours to see if any unfortunate 
boatman is in distress. We fortunately passed through 
this tortuous section without any mishap whatever. 

MOSQUITO LAGOON; ONE OF FLORIDA'S 
BEAUTIFUL LAKES 

The lower end of the Halifax River opens out into 
an oblong lake known as Mosquito Lagoon. It is a 
beautiful body of water and affords plenty of depth for 
the cruiser to go almost straight forward to the southern 
shore, to where the Haulover Canal has been dug to 
connect the Halifax with the Indian River. There is 
nothing of special interest about the lagoon, save that 
it is one of the most beautiful sheets of water in Florida 
and its shores will some day be the home of many pros- 
perous families. 

Until the Haulover Canal was opened, some years ago, 
there was no way for boatmen to get from the Halifax 
to the Indian River. At this point a strip of land, less 
than a mile wide, separates the two rivers. Until the 
canal was opened it was customary to haul small craft 
from one river to the other, hence this place got its name 
of " Haulover." By opening this canal large yachts can 
pass through, thus making a continuous waterway. 

A flourishing settlement has sprung up here, known 
as Allenhurst, and at this dock we tied up, just as an- 
other wonderful day was drawing to a close. As I 
stepped ashore the sky to the west was literally hidden 
by the flight of wild duck, seeking roost on Merritts 
Island. Out in the lagoon trout and bass and other 
game fish kept up a continuous splatter by leaping out of 
the water, while several citizens of the village came for- 
ward to give us a warm welcome to this out-of-the-way- 
place in the world. 




The very rnajtsty of land and sky invoked the soul's 
devotion — while palm trees bent riverivard as 
if to ivelcoriie our coming." 



ALONG THE FAMOUS HALIFAX 15 

END OF A PERFECT DAY 

It was all a most delightful ending of a most wonder- 
ful day. Before I had taken stock of our surroundings 
Ed Primus, our chef, came In with six beautiful trout 
which he had caught from the deck of the " Weona " 
and which an hour later he served us for dinner. 

That night was an idyl. There between the two great 
rivers, on this narrow strip of land, was peace and quiet 
and beauty and rest. Last night we slept at the Yacht 
Club dock in Daytona, with its clatter of civilization all 
about us. Tonight we are far from the city haunts. It 
is nature's music we hear, the lisping of the half-hushed 
night song of a mocking bird, the soft rustling of orange 
leaves outside, made by the south wind. On the one 
side sleeps the placid lagoon, on the other the peaceful 
Indian River. And here at the Haulover, we sleep as 
peacefully as children, dreaming of the joys that come 
with the innocence and gladness of childhood. It is all 
very beautiful. 

Twilight off shore — near-by the mist and maze 
That comes with night, and nightly moan of sea — 
Twilight on ocean's sad, mysterious ways 
That leaves its softened glow and gloom with me. 



Ill 

ALONG THE INDIAN AND ST. LUCIE 

Viiions of the Past — The Silent River — In the St. Lucie and Beyond — 
A Hobe Sound Enchantment — The Glory of a Tropical Night — 
Lake Worth and Palm Beach 

The white sails fill before an urging wind 
That blows from off some shore of verdant hue: 
God's sunlight falls where sight and vision end 
And makes the dream of other days come true. 

In the eaily morning we bid good-by to Allenhurst 
and cruise out into the wide expanse of Indian River, a 
very different stream from the Halifax, or Matanzas. 
The two latter streams are noted for many islands, wind- 
ing channels and broad marshes, while this one has none 
of these traits. It is just one majestic stream, very wide, 
placid and beautiful, in many respects resembling the 
lower section of the St. Johns. 

Indian River is the home of wild ducks. They are 
here not by the hundred but by the thousand. In some 
places the water is almost covered with them and the 
hunter who comes here is sure to get all the sport he 
may want. 

The day is perfect, the sun bright overhead and a light 
breeze blowing from the west. It is a day for being 
real lazy and I note the party will sit for an hour or more, 
watching the changing views without making an effort to 
talk. And it is a day for dreams. Villages begin to ap- 
pear along the shore and once in a while we see the pass- 
ing trains on the East Coast road. But back of this sign 
of activity one sees through visions, that far away time, 
when the Indian was master here — he — the red man 
after whom the noble stream is named. 

16 



ALONG THE INDIAN AND ST. LUCIE 17 

He knew each pool where the water-lily grows, 
He knew the lake, the forest and the glade — 
He knew himself and God — 
Far more than the white man knows. 

Along these coasts were his villages in the long ago; 
here he hunted, held his councils, planned his wars and 
smoked the pipe of peace. Even yet, in vision, one sees 
his phantom canoe go in and out of the many bays, or 
steer straight across for the other shore. The Spaniard 
came, the French came and the English came, and at 
each one's coming, the poor red man went farther into 
the forest and the wonderful river along which he lived 
and flourished became a memory only. 

HOW V^'E EXPLORED " THE SILENT RIVER " 

We pass Rockledge, Cocoa and other places on the 
shore and late in the afternoon poke into one of the 
quaintest little harbors in all Florida, at Eau Gallic, 
where we rest for the night. 

Early next morning we are off for an exploration trip 
to Banana River, a stream which, by common consent, 
we named " The Silent River," after our return. This 
stream flows through the center of Merrits Island, rising 
near the Haulover Canal, and enters the Indian River op- 
posite Eau Gallic. 

It is one of the most beautiful small streams in all this 
section, its banks fringed with mangroves, back of which 
all kinds of palm trees grow and every sort of tropical 
vine and blossom. 

We followed this " Silent River " for perhaps ten 
miles, enjoying every turn, for a new picture of beauty 
spread out before us at every bend. Not a sound could 
be heard, not a habitation anywhere, only this silent, tide- 
flowing stream, the wonderful trees, the shy birds and 
the occasional scream of a fish-hawk, or a gull, upon 
whose solitude we had Intruded. 



i8 FLORIDA SHORES 

At noon we cast anchor in a little cove, encircled with 
all manner of tropical trees, and went out in our small 
motor boat for a try at trout fishing. Captain Henry 
manipulated the steering wheel, while I handled the rod 
and line. Trolling slowly over the shallow water along 
the east bank we found the most royal sport. Every 
time we passed certain points of the shore there was a 
strike, one, two, three; and every time we landed one of 
the speckled beauties. After bringing in a dozen of 
these magnificent fish we returned to the " Weona " for 
lunch, for rest and late in the afternoon turned westward 
to our anchorage in the Eau Gallic harbor. 

TWO days' cruise along the ST. LUCIE 

Two days are spent traveling that beautiful section 
between Eau Gallic and Palm Beach. In some respects 
the region of the St. Lucie River is the most interesting 
section of the east coast. Here we come into the great 
pineapple country and into the zone of famous orange 
groves. Nearly all of this coast is becoming thickly 
settled and is being rapidly developed — not only by 
those who have winter homes, but by permanent settlers 
as well. 

Through a wild section of islands, canals, inlets and 
lakes we come to the northern end of Hobe Sound and 
creep over its smooth surface in the sunlight of a won- 
derful day. 

On this particular afternoon in January our little 
party went ashore, for all the weather elements had com- 
bined to make the day as perfect as a day in the tropics 
can be. Hobe Sound is perhaps the most beautiful sheet 
of water in all Florida, some two miles wide and ten 
miles long. On this silent, placid, inland lake the after- 
noon sun shone in all its glory, the palm-shadowed line of 
the shore forming a strong contrast to the brilliantly 
lighted waterway. 



ALONG THE INDIAN AND ST. LUCIE 19 

A KOBE SOUND ENCHANTMENT 

From our landing place to the ocean is a short half 
mile, the narrow island lying in shape of a ridge, whose 
highest point is midway between the sound and the sea. 
Through an avenue of tall Australian pines we walk to 
the beach and when we catch the first view of the mighty 
sea there is an expression of wonder and elation at the 
magnificent sight. We had just left the peaceful 
sound, placid and unrippled — here is the mighty main, 
as yet half angry from the terror of some tropic storm. 
The waves come in with tremendous swells and break 
upon the broad white beach, like some living thing that 
dies from overexertion. Over this half angry, wave- 
torn stretch of water bends a sky of that bluest blue, 
which the great hand of nature paints in the tropics only. 
It was a day with the look of strange, weird memories 
in its eyes. For more than an hour we sat on the beach 
and listened to the mighty voice of the deep. Before us 
was something with a soul, something alive, something 
awake with human feeling and aspiration — a living 
thing. Sometimes a wave of double size would break 
upon the sand — with the moan of human pleading in its 
voice, crying out, as it were, for vengeance or praying 
to some unseen deity for peace. 

As the twilight came on a light mist quickly arose over 
the surface of the sea, as if to hide from the heavenly 
stars the sight of the wave's unrest. We arise to go and 
yet no one spoke. The spell of the sea was upon each 
heart. We felt awed by the wonderful sight, the vast- 
ness, the unrest — the very human tone of grief in its 
voice had impressed but not saddened us. The feeling 
was of uplift, of inspiration, of having been in the pres- 
ence of some mighty power. 

Tall palm trees frescoed on a sky of blue — 
White gj'psie clouds on vagrant errands bent : — 



20 FLORIDA SHORES 

My boat, the river, dreaming eyes and you, 
Behold my kingdom in a word — " content." 

THE GLORY OF THE NIGHT 

Back through the avenue of pines and the twilight 
deepened rapidly — as is always the case in the tropics. 
But in this gathering darkness there was another world 
alive and awake. In every thicket, bird was calling to 
bird. Here and there were the home gathering parties, 
cooing, crooning — or pleading for some belated mate 
to hasten home. And through these vine-covered thick- 
ets a soft breeze came out of the south, sweet with the 
smell of wild flowers and bending idly the tall pines 
against the bluest of skies, already set with its silver 
stars. 

Dinner aboard the " Weona " was jolly, and after 
that followed a few games of bridge. But somehow the 
little party was in a dreamy mood — the spell of the sea 
was still upon each soul and one by one we sought our 
steamer chairs on the upper deck and preferred to 
dream of a day which had been so complete with peace- 
ful content. 

Across the sound went the Palm Beach limited, 
crowded with tourists for the lower coast — twelve 
coaches all full of fashion and wealth — all hurrying to 
some spot where they can over-dress, over-eat and over- 
drink and make themselves believe they are getting the 
best of the little game of life. What care they for this 
little party of content out here on the still waters of 
Hobe Sound? How dull to them would be this solitude, 
where there is no music save that of the birds and the 
sea and the gentle breeze, and no lights at night, save 
those about our little yacht and the light of the wonder- 
ful stars! The flashy hotels at Palm Beach, Miami and 
Nassau, with all their fashionable dissipations and ex- 
actions, are calling them, for they have never learned to 
love the glory that one finds in the sweet comradeship of 



ALONG THE INDIAN AND ST. LUCIE 21 

nature, such as each of us enjoys tonight out here on the 
silent water. 

Some of the party doze in the easy chairs and some 
talk in low whispers. The stilled beauty of the night is 
so wonderful that any sound seems like touching the 
wrong chord in this symphony of silence. And yet in the 
midst of this a lowpitched song comes from the orange 
grove yonder. It is the night song of a mocking bird, 
such as we hear on moonlight nights during summer time 
in our own beloved Georgia. It is the overflow song of 
happiness, sung while the bird is asleep and dreaming. 
At least that is the theory of the scientists. It is after 
midnight when we go below. Even then, as we fall 
asleep, we still hear the night-song of the bird. And as 
we sleep our dreams teem with overflow songs of happi- 
ness, for the day has been so full of beautiful things. 

LAKE WORTH AND PALM BEACH 

Above Palm Beach we enter that mystical stretch of 
inland water known on the map as Lake Worth. It is 
really a widening of the inland waterway which hugs all 
this coast, but somehow, there broods above its waters a 
deeper calm and its shores present a succession of beau- 
tiful pictures. It is said that the still beauty of this sec- 
tion decided Mr. Flagler to build his winter home here 
— Whitehall — and to erect at Palm Beach his wonder- 
ful hotels, the Ponciana and the Breakers. 

We tie up at Palm Beach after coming out of the mys- 
terious stillness and beauty of the St. Lucie, along which 
we have cruised for the past two days. As we go 
ashore, near the big hotels there comes the realization 
that we are in the midst of life again — and that of the 
most strenuous character. About the lobbies, the walks 
and cafes people are all in evening dress. The bars are 
full of men drinking highballs and cocktails. In the 
dining-rooms champagne is being opened at almost ev- 
ery table. Everybody seems to have brought their city 



22 FLORIDA SHORES 

energy with them. Only here and there is a quiet giiest 
seen taking life easy and even he is restless amid the in- 
cessant activity on every hand. 

We go back to the yacht — don our evening clothes 
and join the busy throng in the cafe, " just for a night." 
It is late when we emerge — nearly midnight — and 
everywhere people are busy. Many are dancing, many 
playing cards, in the cafes groups still linger over the 
newly-filled glasses, sparkling with the brew that 
" cheers and chills." Down in the bar there are more 
men than earlier in the evening, all intent on trying to 
drink Palm Beach dry and telling how the Allies may 
win the big war. Everybody dresses to the limit, every- 
body tries to outshine everybody else, and everybody 
tries to spend a little more money than his neighbor. 

And yet Palm Beach is supposedly a rest resort. All 
of the natural beauty of the spot is still here, the calm 
lake on one side and the sad sea on the other; the winds 
are just as soft and fragrant and the sun never forgets 
to shine and warm the heart. But when these great 
hotels loomed upon this strip of land, peace and restful- 
ness departed, for man has made this not a place of rest, 
but one of the busiest activities. That is Palm Beach in 
a nut shell. 

At midnight we were sufficed. We all long for our 
accustomed stillness and repose. Back on the " We- 
ona " we sit on deck a long time, breathing the flower- 
laden breeze, watching the big stars that tremble on the 
bosom of Lake Worth and listening to the last strains 
of the orchestra yonder, still trying to amuse the giddy 
crowd which will sleep tonight and awake tomorrow and 
go away soon, all oblivious of the real charm of this 
matchless spot. 



IV 
BISCAYNE BAY AND BEYOND 

The Far South — A Flagler Tribute — Miami and Its History — The Call 
of the South — Between Two Skies — A Benediction 

Almost due south of Jacksonville and 366 miles dis- 
tant, the Miami River comes into Biscayne Bay as one 
of the main outlets of the Everglades. Twenty years 
ago all of that section was a vast wilderness of tropical 
woods and thickets — a section as primitive and wild as 
when the Spanish pirates used to anchor in the bay and 
the mouth of the river. A few families lived in the sec- 
tion, eking out a precarious existence by wrecking and 
the manufacture of coontie starch. Old Fort Dallas 
stood on the north bank of the river, near its mouth, a 
fort which had figured in the early Indians wars, and 
which has been modernized into a home and is still oc- 
cupied. At the time the growing of orange and grape- 
fruit was practically unknown and the country was 
looked upon as a vast waste and unfit for cultivation. 
As an evidence of its uncivilized and desolate condition 
the mail was brought down once a week by a man who 
traveled on foot from a point above Palm Beach, some 
sixty miles away. 

A FLAGLER TRIBUTE 

In 1895, Mr. Henry Flagler sent his engineers into 
this section, who surveyed a railway line, connecting 
with the East Coast road, the terminus of which was to 
be at the mouth of the Miami River. Of course, the 
dream of the " over-sea road," which has since been 
built, had not then entered Mr. Flagler's mind. The 

23 



24 FLORIDA SHORES 

East Coast road was completed to Miami River, April 
15, 1896, and the building of Miami commenced at 
once. The place was incorporated as a city July 28, 
1896, furnishing perhaps the only instance on record in 
which a full-fledged city came into existence without first 
having been a town. In Florida 300 registered voters 
are required to entitle a community to be called a city, 
less than that number constitutes a town. At the elec- 
tion in July, 1896, a vote of 344 was cast, making Miami 
a city, without ever having been a town. So rapidly has 
it grown that today it boasts a population of 25,000 — 
its matchless climate attracting all classes of people from 
every part of the world. 

From Hobe Sound to Miami is an easy two days' run 
for our yacht, during which time we wind around many 
a curved shore and creep into picturesque bays and inlets. 
Some parts of this trip bring you along shores which are 
the wildest and seemingly the most deserted of the entire 
coast. At frequent intervals the waterway narrows into 
a channel scarce wide enough for two cruising boats to 
pass, then opening into circular or oblong lakes, dotted 
with scores of small islands. Everywhere the spell of 
the tropics is about you — you note it in the luxuriant veg- 
etation and strange forest growths, as well as from new 
species of sea fowl and birds, which fly away frightened as 
you turn each bend in this serpentine waterway. It is 
a section of strange growths — peopled by fowl, bird 
and beast, who resent your coming, as an intrusion upon 
their hitherto untrammeled freedom. 

MIAMI AND BISCAYNE BAY 

Two days after our Hobe Sound enchantment the 
" Weona " was tied up at the Royal Palm docks in Mi- 
ami and our party went ashore, somewhat reluctantly, to 
touch elbows again with civilization. For nearly a week 
we had lived away from town and city — away from 
the noise of traffic — amid the silence and solitude of 



BISCAYNE BAY AND BEYOND 25 

these Florida shores. All of us had learned to love this 
peace, this being away from the friction of city life, this 
tranquillity along slow-flowing rivers and tideless, inland 
seas. Somehow during these happy days our souls had 
grown into something finer, there were keener aspira- 
tions and each one felt the vast uplifting influence of this 
nearness to, and comradeship with nature. The soul 
had outgrown its narrow house of creed and habit, habits 
that follow a beaten track, when there are such glorious 
new roads to travel, typified by the vastness of sea and 
land and sky-creed, habits that love the market place, 
where the street stones are hard, creeds that kneel in a 
darkened cloister, when all the vastness of God's outside 
world is calling to the worshiper. 

So we went ashore — out of this peace — into the 
noise and whirl of modern city life, for Miami has 
grown wonderfully in the past ten years and is now a 
thriving resort, not only for the tourist, but for business 
as well. Here the streets were crowded with gay pleas- 
ure seekers, hundreds of automobiles and carriages. 
There was life everywhere, not only on the streets, but 
Biscayne Bay was dotted with gay yachts and all along 
the river piers there was every kind of craft. We dine 
at the Royal Palm, for a change, and afterwards listen 
to the music and watch the gay dancers. Later we 
linger in the grill room down stairs, until near midnight, 
watching this busy throng of people giving late dinners 
and opening fresh bottles, until a longing comes to each 
of us to get back to the quiet of the " Weona " out there 
on the starlit water of the Miami River. 

THE CALL OF THE SOUTH 
The next morning dawned clear and warm, with an 
idle wind lagging up from the south. Before 9 o'clock 
the anchor is up and we are away. Good-byes are waved 
to the busy streets, without regret, and the " Weona " 
points her nose southeast for old Cape Florida, on 



26 FLORIDA SHORES 

which stands the famous lighthouse. Opposite this cape 
the course is almost due south and over the lower part of 
Biscayne Bay, certainly one of the most beautiful sheets 
of water in all Florida. It begins some twenty-five 
miles above Miami and extends an equal distance below, 
until its placid waters are lost in Card Sound. A few 
evergreen islands dot the surface here and there, being 
a kind of fisherman's paradise, while sail and steam 
craft are seen in all directions. 

This mid-January morning is ideal for the day dream- 
er and into this selfish occupation most of our party have 
wandered. About the upper deck steamer-chair occu- 
pants are placed at all angles. One is reading from a 
well-chosen book, another is watching the far-off shore 
line, one dozes under the soft spell of the warm sun- 
shine while another dreams with half-opened eyes. 

On the way down we pass Soldier Key, with its now 
fashionable club and fine beach, then Sand Key, then 
Elliott's Island and late in the afternoon come to the en- 
trance of Cssar's Creek, one of the most charming wa- 
terways in all the world. Into this creek, or pass, as it 
is, we turn, for it has safe anchorage for cruising parties 
and here we shall spend the night. Selecting a quiet 
cove, palm rimmed and vine covered, we drop anchor — 
again safe in the land of solitude, with an orchestra of 
bird music furnished from the nearby grove. 

Cassar's Creek is famous for its fine fishing and we 
arrive in time for an hour's sport. We are quickly out 
in the small boats trolling for trout, bass, grouper and 
other fish which abound here. The sport is ideal. Fast 
as the lines go out there is a strike. We are on the right 
tide, just at the time when the fish are feeding. We 
come in with two dozen wonderful beauties, just as the 
sun is hiding behind the Florida mainland, which we can 
see in the distance. 



BISCAYNE BAY AND BEYOND 27 

BETWEEN TWO SKIES 

After dinner, when we come on deck, we are surprised 
to see that we have half a dozen fellow cruisers as neigh- 
bors, who have crept into this friendly cove since night- 
fall. Lights from the several crafts shine upon the wa- 
ter. From one boat there comes the soft music of a 
mandolin which makes the scene all the more weird and 
wonderful. The stars overhead seem twice as large as 
at home and look to be much nearer the earth. In the 
still water below there is an inverted sky — almost a 
duplicate of the one above. In the wooded thicket on 
shore a mocking-bird is singing his dream song — save 
for this and the mandolin the silence is absolute. Even 
old ocean, which lies a mile away to the east, seems 
asleep, for not a sound of his breakers on shore can be 
heard. It is a night in which silence, peace and the still- 
ness of death seem to meet. Five miles to the west lies 
the mainland, and thence fifty miles westward the deso- 
late Everglade country, stretching to Shark River and 
Cape Sable. South of us runs the long line of keys over 
which the sea-going railroad finds its trail to Key West, 
some one hundred miles away. To the north and east 
is the sea, the Spanish main of buccaneers and pirates, 
whose phantom ships the dreamer yet can discern along 
these historic shores. 

About these coasts the threads of Romance twine, 
Along these shores, sail craft, like Phantoms dim; 
And every breeze that wakes the sighing pine 
Sings for the lost a solemn requiem. 



IN LOTUS-LAND 

Angelfish Key and Casar's Creek — Among Coral Reefs — A Sea of 
Evergreen Isles — Through the Sea-Going Road — End of a Dream 

Like lotus eaters we lingered three days in the vicin- 
ity of Cjesar's Creek and around the green coves and in- 
lets of Angelfish Key. There was a charm about the 
place which held our little party spellbound. Each new 
day was like yesterday — warm, sunny, clear — and 
the nights were idyls of starlight and sleep soothing 
breeze. In a quiet cove nearby was the home of a man 
who came here ten years ago, the only inhabitant of the 
island. He had a few acres in oranges and grapefruit 
and an acre in garden, from which we bought an abun- 
dance of fresh vegetables. In this solitary place he has 
lived all these years — twenty miles from civilization. 
It is sometimes weeks when no one calls or passes. 
Communication with the outside world is by boat only. 

South of Angelfish begins Key Largo, the largest of 
the lower keys and over which the seagoing railroad 
runs for nearly loo miles. Between the two islands is 
Angelfish Creek — some fifty feet wide and from thirty 
to forty feet deep. It is one of the most remarkable 
waterways in all Florida. The water is so clear and 
transparent that you can see the bottom distinctly from 
the boat deck. There can be seen every kind of fish 
known to this section and we spent hours drifting along 
this creek, watching the sea life below. Fish of all 
sizes were coming and going or feeding contentedly on 
the bottom. 

Some years ago a party of Atlanta people secured an 
option on Angelfish Key, for the purpose of building a 

28 




Out of tlu- nilf/s of mystery come the pha\U'in\ sliifis of 
another age." 



IN LOTUS-LAND 29 

fishing club. Quite a membership was secured, but for 
some reason the enterprise did not succeed. Some day 
this beautiful island is sure to be utilized for some such 
purpose. 

Just outside of this section and a little to the north, 
begin a series of reefs, which extend all the way to Key 
West, over 100 miles to the southwest. Between the 
keys and these reefs there is usually a waterway from 
ten to twenty feet deep, but the reefs make it dangerous 
for shipping, as many of these rise near the surface of 
the sea. It was upon these reefs where so many ships 
of the early Spanish explorers were lost, for there were 
then no charts, as now, to guide the pilot over these 
treacherous waters. 

AMONG CORAL REEFS 

This is the country in which the little corals have 
builded so well. While most of these keys and reefs 
are on this lower part of the coast, yet they extend from 
St. Augustine to Key West, a distance of over 500 miles. 
Southward is the long white beach, stretching like a rib- 
bon, the most beautiful beach in all the world. There 
is the ocean to the east, its own waters warm to the 
touch, but even to this is added the warmth of the Gulf 
Stream, which sweeps these palm-girded shores. On 
land the live oak is master. He is the semi-god of trees 
and skirts the sea line far to the south, with a luxuri- 
ance of green which never fades or changes. At broken 
points of the coast, on outreaching promontories, the 
sea-sad palms are the sentinels. They stand like living 
statues, upright and silent, or else lean toward the main, 
as if offering prayer to the god of the deep. 

A SEA OF EVERGREEN ISLES 

Out of this land of enchantment we sailed on the 
fourth day — all seemingly reluctant to leave a spot so 
beautiful and so fitted for rest and ease. And yet experi- 



30 FLORIDA SHORES 

ence had taught each of us that all of this section is won- 
derfully beautiful and full of interest. Thus, when we 
turned into Card Sound, we found it dotted with ever- 
green islands, so that every turn of the channel brought 
into view some new prospect, some new picture which we 
felt must not be forgotten. Down in this section the 
growth becomes more tropical, the royal palm being fre- 
quently seen and the cocoanut trees being taller and bet- 
ter fruited than farther up the coast. The cocoanut 
down here knows no season, the ripe nut, the half grown 
fruit and the blossom appearing on the same stem. 

At noon we pass into Barnes Sound, at the lower end of 
which the sea-going railroad crosses from the mainland 
to Key Largo, and thence finds its way from island to 
island until it reaches the terminus at Key West. 

The touch of one hand put a band of steel along this 
east coast and what was once a barren country is now a 
beautiful garden. Before the railway was built this en- 
tire coast was a wild waste. It is true the placid bays 
and rivers were just as beautiful, every day was like an 
ideal June; there was always sunshine, always flowers, al- 
ways bird songs, but all of this was a lost asset to man, 
for man was not there to share its nameless glory. Since 
the coming of the railroad all of this wild coast country 
has become not only a great playground for the tourist, 
but a vast hive of busy industry. 

THROUGH THE SEA-GOING ROAD 

Through the drawbridge the " Weona " passes the 
railroad extension into Blackwater Sound, a kind of cir- 
cular bay, some three miles wide. The sun is just going 
down over the mainland and we seek anchorage near the 
Long Key shore — in one of the quietest havens, from 
which we can hear the lumbering sound of the waves on 
the beach beyond. It is strange what a difference there 
is between the ocean front and this inside waterway on 
the Florida coast. From St. Augustine we have fol- 




The sound of an ebbing tide on the s/md. like the 
Grief.-' 



of 



IN LOTUS-LAND 31 

lowed the inside route every mile, a distance of over 400 
miles, and the water is always calm, because it is pro- 
tected by the string of keys which guard this inside 
channel from the winds of the ocean. Of course, the 
ocean feels the effect of every storm or wind on the 
south Atlantic. Frequently huge waves will whip the 
shore for days when no storm has been even in sight. 
This is but the effect of some distant disturbance, which 
often requires days to be felt on shore. This inside 
waterway down the coast makes cruising the delight that 
it is. One always feels safe and secure, for the wooded 
islands that lie between the ocean and this inside route 
protect the smallest craft, even in the few days of bad 
weather. 

THE END OF A DREAM 

This night in Blackwater Bay marks the farthest 
south we shall cruise on this trip and the party does not 
relish the idea of turning back on the morrow. 

This trip can be continued around Cape Sable and up 
the west coast, and through the Ten Thousand Islands, 
but we cannot spare the time this year and must leave 
that exploration for another season. We all cross to 
the beach in the parting light of this glorious day and 
take a look at the wonderful surf pihng up on the white 
sand of the beach. Fishhawks and gulls are darting 
here and there over the wild waves, covies of birds are 
hurrying to their island roosting places and long lines of 
pelicans are seen flying toward the mainland. Even in 
this out-of-the-way corner of the world there is plenty 
of life and this scene between sunset and dark is always 
full of interest. Up the coast we can see the lights of 
a steamer headed northward and nearer in are the dim 
outlines of two sailing-crafts south. Amid the stillness 
of this mid-winter twilight comes the sudden scream of 
a locomotive and then appears a fast tourist train for 
Key West, carrying its hundreds of passengers over this 
narrow strip of island and over the sea-built railroad in 



32 FLORIDA SHORES 

perfect safety. It is a case where the wild in nature and 
the newest civilization meet. 

We walic back, to the little yacht in the thickening 
darkness. Above us is the world of sky, set with stars 
that seem clearer and nearer than elsewhere, eastward is 
a wild sea, breaking upon the shore in restless anger; to 
the west not a ripple stirs the surface of Blackwater Bay 
and the sky beyond is yet luminous with touches of the 
sun which has just set upon this long journey to the 
south, a journey we shall all remember. To-morrow we 
shall turn the " Weona " northward and go reluctantly 
back to the noise and confusion of civilization again. 

From a distant thicket comes the dream song of a 
bird, such as we listened to that evening by the still wa- 
ter of Hobe Sound. Just a few notes, then all was 
silent. It was the " good-night " of this wild, sweet 
country to our pilgrimage, and we close the day with the 
thoughts of purity, innocence and serenity, resting like 
a benediction upon our souls. 



DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

This is God's church; as wide and broad and free 
As those great lessons that are taught herein; 
No pent up wall of mortar, mixed with sin, 
Denotes one spot where man shall bow the knee ; 
But outward, onward, vast as is the sky 
And outward, onward, vaster than the sea 
This church extends, that man may ever be 
On sacred soil, his God to glorify ! 



DAWN AT THE POINT OF THE CAPE 

Dawn at the point of the cape, where the land runs evenly down 

To the narrowest slip and is lost in the arms of the main ; 

A white beach, dimmed by the mantle of night, with never a spot 

or a stain, 
Stretches away, like a ribbon of light, to the distant edge of the 

town. 

High noon at the point of the cape, with the loitering clouds all 

mixed and tangled 
With the intricate tints of the sky's own blue ; 
East and West the stretch of the vision bespangled 
With colors and shades of a nameless hue. 

Night off the point of the cape — full moon, a cloud and the sea; 
Just these and that unsolved mystery 

Of darkness and silence, that storms through the soul in its plight 
When alone with itself and the night. 



A TWILIGHT HYMN 

I 

A Summer twilight, glory-wrought and still, 

Dim shadows on the hill ; 
The meadow brush, full bloom with scented things 

A-whir with weary wings! 

Beneath a sky, low-bent with silent stars, 

One stands beside the bars 
And lifts a song, full-flowing to the brim 

In penitential hymn. 

II 

The distant hills caught up the sweet old song. 

In echoes swift along, 
'Till notes, like those from some celestial lyre, 

Came down and set on fire 
The singer's soul. And when the last note died 

Across the meadow's side 
Night folded all, in sleep, beneath her wing, 

Dreaming of those who sing. 

I 

SPRINGTIME AT MILDORELLA 

Mildorella is a cottage, very few know where; 
Modesty is shy and timid, never mind how fair. 
Mildorella has its garden, shut in by a wall. 
In it every summer blossom hears the summer call. 

Oh the glory of it! — the freshness, color, beauty 
and the nameless charm of this April morning, out here 
at Mildorella, where nature is just as young and joyous 
as on the first day of the world's creation. 

35 



36 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

Oh the glory of light and shade and mist, the mixing 
of dull Vermillion hues with the burnished clarity of a 
spring dawn, when every tree, bush and flower tingles 
and trembles with the gladness of new life. 

And more glorious to the ear than the other is to the 
eye, is the symphony of sounds, the voice of every native 
bird, blending in one orchestral outbreak, as an offering 
to the dawn of this new day. 

This, to me, is God's pictured manifestation of what 
man's resurrection shall be — an arising out of the night 
of death's sleep into the dawn of immortality — the 
awaking from gloom into light, from vesperal shadows 
into the opulence of an amber-colored day: — and amid 
a chorus of music, the sweetness of which shall rob our 
souls of the last memory of sin and of an old world, 
stained with corruption and vice. 

Every spring coming preaches its gospel of goodness, 
innocence and beauty in a language stronger than any 
words can convey. The freshness of April is like the 
freshness of the world in its youth. We go back with 
the advent of every springtime to the world's first April 
and find the old earth and its lavish gifts just as they 
were in the beginning. The spirea hangs its wreaths of 
white with the same prodigality, the rose garden offers 
its lavish colors in the same abundance, while the violets 
that peep out at us along the walks are just as blue and 
the smell of the hyacinth just as sweet. 

Strange, is it not, that the old world has lost nothing, 
through all her centuries, of lavish giving? Her store 
is just as complete today as upon creation's first morn- 
ing; her gifts as plentiful, her charity as complete and 
without stint. There is nothing in human experience by 
which to measure the wealth through which nature 
blesses her people. 

In her springtime gifts to the world nature shows how 
generous her soul can be. Where she might offer an 
hundred snowdrops on the hillside she bestows a thou- 



SPRINGTIME AT MILDORELLA 37 

sand or more — an entire field is white with daisies, and 

more than a mile of meadow is yellow with buttercups. 

I awoke as the factory whistles and bells in Atlanta 

were calling the victims of the loom to their joyless tasks, 

" When, dim through the morning dust, in a voiceless line 
The women and children go down to battle for bread." 

There was just the least touch of gray upon the east- 
ern sky. Even in our latitude the April dawn comes 
early and out there over the pines was the pale crescent 
rim of a moon all bespent. Close by were clusters of 
pallid stars, now weary of their vigil and fading into 
forgetfulness at the coming of their great ruler — the 
sun. 

There is a charm about an April dawn — a freshness 
and sweetness of which words cannot tell and whose 
glory so few people know. As the first spar of light 
stnick the wooded grove on this spring morning the sil- 
ver voice of the thrush was lifted in clear notes and 
quickly answered by an awakened mate near-by. The 
mocking bird sought his usual perch upon the highest 
oak, beside the garden; and facing east, to greet the sun- 
rise, sent forth that volume of joy-compelling melody 
which is one of the glorious blessings of the regions in 
which he sings. 

Later, as I walked about the garden, all glittering 
with the fresh morning dew, the air was heavy with per- 
fume from every kind of blossom, while the glory of daf- 
fodils, snowdrops and tulips was waning — there yet re- 
mained a few of these early favorites, whose mission had 
made a rather cold March at Mildorella a joy and a 
blessing for — 

Even yet while snow is on the hills. 
And winter's icy touch the valley fills 
God sends a pledge of what the spring shall be 
In golden glory of the daffodils. 



38 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

And to-day this pledge was fully verified. In the 
lower garden a lone peachtree was a picture of pinkish 
blossoms — a huge bouquet standing out against the 
pines further on. Here was syringa and spirea and 
deutzia, beckoning from every walkway, over there a 
crab apple tree had suddenly come out in full bloom over 
night, the weigelias were great plumes of beauty, while 
a few early roses nodded in the lazy breezes along the 
hedge. Bird music everywhere, flowers of all hues and 
the breath of nature rich in perfume make such a morn- 
ing a blessed start for a day of toil. 

Here in the massed shrubbery on the grounds there is 
amazing building activity among the birds. The place 
is like a peopled city. The thrush, which is naturally so 
shy and timid and which usually builds in some secluded 
thicket, is now nesting in a quince tree, near the house. 
The cat bird is even bolder and has a half finished nest 
in the hedge near the front porch. The mocking bird 
has chosen the rose arch over the front entrance and al- 
ready has his nest complete and now spends most of the 
day singing on a telephone pole near by. In other parts 
of the grounds all kinds of nests are being finished. All 
sorts of straw, hair, paper, rags and moss are being 
brought in, and the murmur of bird voices is noted in 
every nook and corner. 

It just dawned on me today that these winged singers 
are now rewarding me for my kindness to them and for 
protection. When I built Mildorella nine years ago 
there was hardly a bird about this four acre plot of land. 
Now there are hundreds. These birds came, year after 
year, because I protected them, fed them in winter and 
early spring and each felt safe in building its nest in any 
part of the grounds. Only those who have cultivated 
the art of being kind to birds and who know what they 
can give you in return for this kindness, will understand 
what their companionship means. It gives one a closer 
comradeship with nature — a tenser love for those crea- 



SPRINGTIME AT MILDORELLA 39 

tures whose language we do not understand and opens 
up a new interest in life which we did not have before. 

The day in the city had been trying. One little busi- 
ness worry after another had followed each other. 
Days like this come occasionally to the office; so when I 
returned to Mildorella in the evening — just as dark- 
ness was settling over my little dream-world of home, — 
it was with a feeling of relief and relaxation. Out here 
in the country all was peace and the soft influence of the 
twilight seemed to take from the soul all its cares and 
give back that blessed tranquillity with which the day had 
started. Belated birds were calling to their mates in 
the woods near-by, across the golf course was the faint 
glow of a splendid sunset, a warm breeze came out of the 
west, rich in the perfume of azalea and wild plum trees. 

After dinner we sat on the lawn, near the pink- 
blossomed crab apple tree. The spring glory was at its 
best and so tense was the air with beauty, warmth and 
smell of fresh blossoms that few words were spoken. 
Each wished to be silent and to feel the stilled beauty of 
the April night. Above us every star shone out, 
through the clear atmosphere, with wonderful brilliance. 
A dream world of peace was all about us, in the silence 
of which every discordant note of the day was hushed. 

It was then I began to think of my " wasted years " as 
I sometime call them now — the years before I left the 
city and came out into the country to live. During all 
that time I had lost sight of nature and the glory which 
she can bring to her devotees. I rarely ever saw a 
spring dawn, during those long years in the city, or a twi- 
light, or the stars, nor felt the softening influence which 
the country alone can give. Life was all one rush, one 
hurry — noise, confusion, with little time, or opportun- 
ity left in which the soul could find a peace, like that 
which came to us to-night, as we sat there in quiet and 
looked up, once more, at the patient stars. 

He who has not inclination, or time, to look up at the 



40 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

stars, has missed the glory of living. Whose heart is 
shut to the music of bird-song is far from enjoying the 
life of fullness which belongs to him. He who never 
watches the awaking of a spring dawn in the country — 
the glory of a sun-lit mid-day, or the tranquillity of twi- 
light has yet a prize to live for. These gifts belong to 
all of us, but the soul must be in tune to receive them. 
When Lanier went into the marshes and learned to play 
the song of the swamp robin upon his flute, he did this 
out of a soul over-full of a love for music. Our souls 
must be in accord with nature and her great wealth — 
we must love the things she offers us — or the attempt 
will all be in vain. 

O God what resurrection this! 

To see once more upon the hill 

The April sunshine like a kiss 

Upon my lips — that throb and thrill — 

To hear the thrush's song again 

And see the tulip's crimson stain ! 

Long after each had sought repose, when everything 
about the house was quiet, wrapped in that stillness 
which falls over a home in the country, I read a story of 
entrancing interest, occasionally looking out upon the 
rose-garden, shining with dewdrops in the starlight. It 
seemed sacrilegious to sleep on such a night ! Not a 
breath of air was astir. Every flowering branch hung 
loose and free in the spring-night's stillness. All the 
garden was a picture of content, of peace, silence and 
solitude. At last, when I fell asleep, through sheer 
weariness, with the love story unfinished, it was to go 
away into that other land of mystic enchantment — the 
land of dreams. It was all very beautiful, so serene, so 
phantom-like, and yet so real. It was living the life 
where dreams come true and where the real and the in- 
tangible meet. That is springtime at Mildorella. 



II 

CLOSE TO NATURE'S HEART 

Create me anew, O Master of men, 
Give me the brain which so many waste; 
Dower my hand with a Tennyson pen, 
Mold me anew in a Hugo caste: 
Send me the dreams which a Homer knew 
And I will write the story anew. 

It was a mid-winter day on the glorious Halifax 
River In Florida, but the day was as soft and balmy and 
full of dreams as any day in June could be. 

We had been cruising for three weeks along the 
Florida coast, away from civilization — away from the 
market place of trade and the pretense of fashion and 
show. During three weeks we had lived close to na- 
ture, out in the open; we had become companions to the 
stars, the sky — to the sea and the winds — to the birds 
and the silent trees. Somehow, our souls had grown 
into something finer, there were keener aspirations and 
each one of us felt the vast uplifting influence of this life 
among the great and beautiful things In nature, which 
can be found only in out-of-the-way places like this. 

On this particular afternoon our yacht passed Mos- 
quito Inlet, in sight of the Atlantic surf, beating along 
the sand dunes. The vastness of the ocean, the seeming 
endless stretch of white shore line, the birds that filled 
the space above with wild freedom flights, all impressed 
me with both the greatness and the insignificance of man 
and with, 

" The mystery of gulls that fly 
Like a soul, forever asking why." 
41 



42 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

Suddenly there came a lifting of the soul, as it were, 
into a loftier plane of existence, a longing after the 
worth-while things in life, a broader conception of na- 
ture and her glorious children. 

There was the sea, vast, grim, almost silent, stretch- 
ing away like some conquered thing. Its vastness im- 
pressed one like the presence of a God; yet its very rest- 
lessness was akin to some human thing — which, like the 
human soul, is forever asking, " Why." In the broad 
expanse of horizon, above and around, wild birds flew, 
like liberty things — impressing the heart with its own 
limitations and its narrow bounds. Along shore there 
was wealth of tree and vine and flower, all exulting in 
the warm sun-giving vigor which only this tropical cli- 
mate can impart. 

Turning from these my soul looked within at its nar- 
row house of creed, and habits. How circumscribed 
these are! How bigoted, confined and narrow! Hab- 
its that follow a beaten track when there are such glori- 
ous new roads to travel — typified by the vastness of sea 
and land and sky — creed, when a God may be found on 
every hilltop and in every valley. Habits that love the 
market-place, where the street stones are hard and daisies 
never grow — creed that kneels in a darkened church of 
foul air, when all the vastness of God's outside world is 
calling to the worshiper. 

Out of these reflections, on that January afternoon, 
amid all that is vast and wild and free in God's blessed 
open, came the lifting of the soul into that higher world, 
into which it is everyone's privilege to come. And out 
of these reflections came the prayer: — 

" Create me anew, O Master of men, 
Give me the brain that so many waste ; 
Dower my hand with a Tennyson pen, 
Mold me anew in a Hugo cast ; 
Send me the dreams which a Homer knew 
And I will write the story anew." 



CLOSE TO NATURE'S HEART 43 

Yet one needs not a new creation to enter this world 
of broader, higher living. The roadway to this higher 
ideal is hedged with flower wallcs and when one has 
reached that lofty plane and known the glory of the new 
life, there will be no longing for the old ways and the 
old days. The lotus cup will be pressed to your lips 
once for all. And when once you have entered into its 
secret paths, listened to its music and prayed its prayers, 
you will forever wonder how you lived so long among 
your old creeds and habits of the market place. 



Ill 

GOLF AND THE GOLFER'S REWARD 

When I built a bungalow in the country nine years 
ago, I took a new lease on existence and the joy of liv- 
ing. 

It was the most important decision in my life, perhaps, 
and I shall always bless the day when I went back to the 
serene content of the country and renewed my fellowship 
with nature; with birds, flowers and sunshine, with rosy- 
fingered dawns, entrancing twilights and the comradeship 
of stars. 

As a boy in the Palmetto State, " away down on the 
old South Farm," I had imbibed my first love of nature; 
and our first love is the only kind of which we are abso- 
lutely sure. There I was accustomed to see every sun 
rise and every sunset, to find the first rare spring blos- 
som, to keep date when the thrush sounded his first 
silver note in the April woods, to hunt the earliest ripe 
plum, peach and cherry in the orchard and to fall asleep 
at night watching the calm faced stars from my bed- 
room window. 

But after that, after that boyhood of innocence and 
nature-love, came the hilarious years of college life, then 
the serious settling down to business, the taking up a 
dwelling place in the busy, noisy city — and nothing was 
left of childhood's dream but a memory, sweetened with 
the perfume of blooming things, with innocence and all 
that is pure. 

It is strange how quickly habit can change and fix our 
natures, mold us into new beings, revolutionize our 
tastes and lead our feet along roads entirely new. 
When I settled down to active business, over twenty 

44 




God's frish, yn-cn U'jrltl, s/cinul icitli a tliDUSanil dah'us. 



GOLF AND THE GOLFER'S REWARD 45 

years ago, somehow I laid aside the nature of my boy- 
hood days. New things claimed attention and the old 
loves were cast aside for new toys, more appealing. 
My business took me upon long trips to the leading cities 
of the country from Boston to New Orleans and from 
Chicago to Jacksonville. About one third of my time 
was spent in hotels and on sleeping cars, amid the noise 
and confusion of modern travel. The time at home was 
occupied with office activities which left little time for 
repose or for dreaming. Little thought was ever given 
to nature, to her serene haunts, and still less thought to 
that wholesome, out-door exercise, which is so necessary 
to the preservation of one's health. 

As a result I was threatened with a break-down and 
was compelled to pause and take stock of my condition, 
to plan some sort of reform that would prevent a total 
collapse. 

It was then I turned to the country. I was weary of 
the clamor of stony streets, of disturbing noises beneath 
my windows at all hours of the night, weary of show, of 
pretense and pride, and hungry for the quiet of peaceful 
country roadways. The longing came over me with 
overwhelming force and I shall always bless the day 
when I bought these few acres of grass and trees, where, 

From all the vast, wide sphere of earth 
I choose this narrow strip of land 
Where one more home shall have its birth 
And Love's wide door-way stand — 
To lure the footfalls of the dawn, 
To soothe the mystery of night, 
To quicken steps all homeward drawn 
By Love's unfailing light. 

The simple bungalow was ready in April and we left 
the big city house, standing on a noisy corner, and came 
into this new world of serenity, just when Springtime 
offered her heartiest welcome. It was like leaving one's 



46 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

prison walls and coming out Into God's own sweet world 
of freedom. It was like leaving the old life behind us and 
taking up a new existence, in which every day was full 
to the brim, with the joy of living. 

I remember sitting on the lawn in the April night 
when our apple trees were blooming at their best and all 
the air was heavy with perfume. Every~where there 
was silence, everywhere there was peace — the full moon 
paled the light of the stars and a soft breeze bent lightly 
the blossom-laden shrubbery. There was a stilled ten- 
sion in the atmosphere and no one spoke, but I thought 
what a fortunate thing I had done to come back again to 
Mother Nature and be soothed into serenity once more by 
her subtle influence. The years that lay in the past 
seemed like a waste and a new life lay before us, which 
beckoned with rare enchantment. 

It was then that I took up golf, that wholesome, out- 
door game, which quickly restored my broken health and 
made me as well as when I left the plantation in Caro- 
lina. There were games in the early morning, when the 
East Lake course was one broad carpet of green, games 
at mid-day when the spring sunlight fell like a benedic- 
tion and games in the late afternoon, when the twilight 
sky in the west was like some huge canvas, some picture 
beyond the skill of any human painter. There was 
healthy trudging over the green sward, into the traps and 
over bunkers, down by the meadow, where acres of but- 
tercups were blooming and up along the wooded slope 
where all the trees stood full-leaved and radiant, like an 
army of celestials. 

Everywhere was bird music, everywhere sunshine, ev- 
erywhere the nameless glory of spring. This new life 
out in the open took me back to the days of boyhood. I 
heard the lyric bird-music which comes with every April, 
looked once more upon flowers which were almost 
strangers and felt the returning glow of health, of which 
the unnatural years of living had robbed me long ago. 



GOLF AND THE GOLFER'S REWARD 47 

In this new outdoor life I found the remedy for all the 
ills brought on by ignoring nature for nearly two dec- 
ades. Here was the soft, fresh air, the warm sunshine, 
the blue skies, the wholesome exertion, which sent the 
blood tingling through the veins and brought back the 
glow of health to the cheek. Once more I was well, 
once more hope came back into my soul, once more life 
took on new opportunities and vast possibilities — once 
again life had the freshness of youth and was worth the 
living. 

In the new realm of wholesomeness I found the great 
church in which I loved to worship — God's blessed out- 
doors — a church whose only creed is love, serenity and 
peace. Here were no gossips, no critics, no nagging 
fault finders, no fanatical reformers, but liberty and love 
— the greatest heritage which comes to man. Every 
tree-top waved a welcome, every blossom smiled as we 
passed, while the choirs invisible in every thicket made 
a symphony of bird-music at every turn of the course. 
The heart throbbed in sympathy with these outward 
manifestations of nature's luxurious gifts, the blood 
tingled with the thrill of buoyant health, and the soul 
could not resist the impulse to whistle, or to hum some 
sweet old hymn of the long ago. I found myself at 
peace with all the world, in love with all man-kind and 
instinctively lifting my heart in a word of prayer to 
heaven, just as I used to do on the old South Farm be- 
fore the gilded city robbed me of the spirit of devotion. 

Each day which brought such keen-edged joy was fol- 
lowed by a night of peace. Ah! how jealously I saw 
each glad day fade into twilight and be numbered with 
the days that are dead. No one was long enough to do 
all that had been planned, for new health had brought 
new hope and filled the soul with new ambition. Each 
day was so full of gladness, of cheer, of wanting to ac- 
complish, that its passing came with a sense of loss. 

But the nights which followed these glorious days 



48 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

came on with their full measure of reward. There was 
peace about the silent rooms and hallways, peace under 
the apple trees without, peace in the face of every star 
that looked down from the sky, and peace in the soul. 
There was no longer a dread of sleepless nights, of 
haunting dreams and the awaking at dawn with a depres- 
sion that started the day with gloom. Sleep was as 
sound as the sleep of a child, and dreams, if any, had to 
do with some whistled song of the day before, when the 
heart had its overflow of joy, like a bird that sings in the 
night. 

Then came the waking — early — out there in the 
cool, green country; and with it all the hope and ambi- 
tion which stirs the soul of youth. No depression now, 
as in the old days of city life, no longing for an intoxi- 
cant to help start the day, no dread of taking up some 
difficult task, but anxiety and longing to begin a new day 
of new possibilities. Often have I contrasted these rare 
days with the old life, half-sick, weary of the world, 
when time dragged heavily and hope was low. 

Each person creates his own heaven, both here and 
hereafter. We all admit that our idea of heaven is 
happiness. 

Heaven, for each, is within, more than without. Our 
mental or spiritual attitude makes us happy or otherwise 
— and after all that is, for us, heaven, or the other 
place. It is within us. 

But the mental and spiritual attitude cannot be normal 
unless there is exuberant health, brought about by lib- 
eral outdoor exercise. Therefore, to make our own 
heaven, from day to day, we must be well, we must be 
normal, so the mind can have its powerful control and 
create within and about us that happiness which each de- 
sires. 

If we allow a lack of exercise to impair our health and 
dim our vision, then we shall not be able to see the glory 
of heaven, which is always within our reach. 






" J roiidivdy Uiuliiiy tu ioiiu pluiiito/n hiiid oj drtains." 



GOLF AND THE GOLFER'S REWARD 49 

I sometimes think that golf is doing more to reform 
men, to make them better, to put true devotion in their 
souls than any one creed is doing. This wholesome ex- 
ercise is restoring lost health to thousands, taking away 
the desire for stimulants, adjusting people to the right 
way of living — discarding the artificial life and giving 
in its place the natural. Golf makes men better, hap- 
pier, healthier, makes them strong, ambitious and brave, 
and puts hope in the soul where dread had been. 

To hear again out there on the links the half forgot- 
ten song of the blue bird and to breathe the delicate per- 
fume of white clover, takes one back to the golden age of 
youth. To feel the days slipping by all too rapidly, to 
renew acquaintance with flowers unseen for twenty years, 
to feel the soft grass give under your quickened tread — 
to revel again in sunshine and the very joy of being out- 
doors — that is golf and the golfer's reward. 



IV 

A CHRISTMAS EVE AND A CHRISTMAS 
DAWN 

I WAS spending the montli of December, 191 1, at Ft. 
Myers, Florida, and while the smaller fishing had been 
good I was disappointed in not having caught some of 
the larger fish which belong to the west coast. 

My guide for that month was Capt. Wentle, an Eng- 
lishman, and one of the best informed boatmen along 
that coast. He had done all he could to make the 
larger sport a success, to the extent, even, of taking me 
to Little Marco, seventy-five miles southward. But of 
that trip there is another story to tell. 

On the afternoon before Christmas day Capt. Wentle 
came to my room in the hotel about 4 o'clock and stated 
that a boatman, just in from Boca Grande, reported the 
fishing in that section to be very good, several tarpon 
having been caught the day before. I did not put much 
faith in the story, but somehow there was a call for the 
trip, some insensible longing to make the voyage on that 
long expanse of inside water, going to the west. 

" How soon must we start in order to be there for 
early fishing to-morrow?" I asked Capt. Wentle. 

" Not later than 9 o'clock to-night," he replied. 

" Then stock the ' Ella J ' at once for the trip and I 
will be ready at nine." 

It was a Christmas Eve and many pleasant things had 
been planned in town for the morrow, but the call of the 
water was all too strong and I at once began prepara- 
tions for the trip. 

At nine o'clock I went aboard the " Ella J " where ev- 

50 



A CHRISTMAS EVE AND DAWN 51 

erything was in readiness. Bidding a host of friends 
good-by and regretting that the chance for good fishing 
kept me from being with them on Christmas day, we 
started down the Caloosahatchee River on one of the most 
beautiful nights I ever saw. 

After leaving I sat on the forward deck for two 
hours, watching the land on either side, some two miles 
away, the water and the skyline in the distance. There 
were fishing boats at anchor in the far away coves. 
Aged palmettos and palms leaned waterward from the 
distant shores, back of which tall cocoanut trees loomed 
gaunt against the sky. It was a marine picture, with all 
the voluptuous setting the tropics could possibly give to 
it. 

The breeze was soft and from the south. It was rich 
with the perfume of orange blossoms and had that 
strange influence which comes to one when the first south 
winds of springtime begin to blow after a bleak winter 
in the north. 

The placid stream widened after an hour's run and 
only a few lights could be seen. That one on Sanabel 
Island stood out clear above all the others — a faithful 
beacon for the thousands who pass these shores annually 
in quest of trade and pleasure. 

A little before midnight I went below, telling the 
pilot to call me on arrival at Boca Grande, no matter 
what the hour. A clean berth was ready and I was soon 
asleep and only those who love the water know what a 
luxury such sleep is. Being rocked in the cradle of the 
deep has lost none of its charms in this later age. 

I was awakened by Capt. Wentle at the first gray 
touch of dawn as we lay at anchor in Boca Grande Bay. 
When I arose and looked out upon the glory of that 
Christmas dawn a wonderful picture of nature lay all 
about me — notable for its vastness and prodigality. 
In the east was a bright star, leading as it were, the on- 
coming light of morning. Back of this, against the gray 



52 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

horizon, the red sprays of dawn were pictured above the 
waters of the Gulf of Mexico. To the north of us lay 
the land — dark green along the shore — and farther 
inland were tall pines marking the rim of the horizon. 
Southward from the boat lay the pass — that famous 
entry which all fishermen in this section know so well. 
Through it came the warm waters of the Gulf in a low, 
rumbling whisper, while beyond along the beaches, east 
and west, I could hear the breaking of low waves in a 
kind of sad, menacing voice. Through this famous 
Boca Grande Pass the fish from the Gulf come into the 
inner waters of the sounds and bays — making this lo- 
cality one of the notable fishing grounds of Florida. 

Language fails me in any attempt to describe the glory 
of that Christmas morning. As the light of day in- 
creased the melody of scores of mocking birds added to 
its charm — the entire shore-line of green being one long 
stretch of melody. 

Toast and steaming coffee were served quickly in the 
fresh little saloon and then the start for sport. Long 
before the sun rays had touched Captive Island, to the 
east, we were trolling all the bay for the big fellows we 
knew were there in waiting. It was just sun-rise. I saw 
a patch of white spray break back of my hook, which 
was over loo feet out. I knew something was going to 
happen. I whispered to Capt. Wentle and the speed of 
the launch was slackened, but before this was noticed the 
big fellow had struck and was safe at the other end of 
the line. 

Then commenced the fight for a landing. His first 
attack, as usual, was furious — going out close to the 
pass, but by some clever manipulation I changed his 
course and kept him in the bay. After a straight run 
for some distance he changed his course, circled to the 
north-shore and then slackened, coming our way, under 
the boat and out toward the pass again. Taking a long 
turn the fish had about all the line I could spare and as 



A CHRISTMAS EVE AND DAWN 53 

the line tightened he made a grand leap in the morning 
air — a magnificent picture of activity and bright colors. 

After this the fight was less fierce, but it was impos- 
sible to land him until he was further weakened by the 
fight. This came gradually and after twent)'-six minutes 
from the time he struck we had him in the boat, a won- 
derful specimen for size, symmetry and coloring. 

And yet the actual fishing experience on that Decem- 
ber morning, 191 1, was perhaps the least part of our 
happiness on the entire trip. The glory of that night, 
with its clusters of big stars, the clean-swept skies at 
dawn, with the songs of birds on one side and the half 
human murmur of the Gulf on the other, the soft breezes 
that crept along, sweet with the smell of new-blown flow- 
ers, all of these had their part in a memory that will re- 
main so long as life remains. 

As we went back to the " Ella J " for our regular 
breakfast a lazy boatman went out through Boca Grande 
Pass half singing, half humming a song, the words of 
which I caught as follows : — 

" This world is a dream to me, 
Plenty of fish in the sea, 
And I know where to find them every day — 
The world is a dream to me." 

And as he passed into the Gulf and was lost around 
the curve of the shore I made note of this type of happy, 
care-free race, scattered along the entire Florida coast. 
A hut in the thicket, back from the shore, serves as a 
home. A small garden yields him vegetables. From 
a few fruit trees he draws heavily for support. But 
most of all the Gulf and bays afford him never-failing 
sustenance. He lives this aimless life and dies beyond 
the worry of a single ambition. 

Perhaps nature has impressed upon his soul this lack 
of energy, for nature herself is a lotus eating mistress all 
along these verdant shores. 



ZOLA GORDON — AN IDYL OF LONG KEY 

We had been cruising south of Miami for two weeks 
reveling in weather as perfect as weather could be made. 
Every new day was like yesterday — clear, bright, sooth- 
ing — and each breeze that passed seemed to kiss the 
cheek for the very joy of existence. On one side of 
us lay the lower stretches of Biscayne Bay — to the east 
was the sea — now calm and seemingly asleep — while 
north and south were the evergreen islands, which make 
so picturesque this lower Florida country. 

We were like lotus eaters and had lingered in the 
vicinity of Ca?sar's Creek and Angelfish Key almost 
a full week. We had studied the exotic tropical growth 
of the islands, the wild tangle of flowers and out in the 
open creeks and inlets we spent hours in the small boats, 
watching the sea-life in the waters below — every move- 
ment of which could be seen for a depth of thirty feet. 

At night we had anchored out in the open sea, where 
the salt breezes could, unobstructed, soothe us into 
dreamless slumber. Such nights as these it is given to 
few mortals to enjoy. There was a sky of stars above 
and a sky of stars below — the clear, still water mirror- 
ing the silent stretch of blue above. And out of the 
thicket of palms and wild orange trees would come the 
rich perfume of blossoms peculiar to the tropics — the 
smell of lime, orange, jasmine and cocoanut flowers, 
all of which have double strength under the weird in- 
fluence of the night air. From the same mysterious 
thickets would come snatches of bird notes, at broken 
intervnls, songs, which the scientists tell us, are sung dur- 

54 



AN IDYL OF LONG KEY 55 

ing the slumber of the birds, dreaming of the happy day 
just gone. 

Then, in the mornings, we would be awakened, not by 
the clash of street noises, for there were no streets within 
twenty miles of us, but by the finger of golden sunbeams, 
laid upon our eyes, with the gentleness of a woman's 
touch. Outside the gulls were clamoring for a break- 
fast from the boat, and when one walked on deck a pic- 
ture as wild, as clear, and as fresh greeted from every 
direction as ever stretched out before the human vision. 
In one direction was the world of sea, with its golden 
sunshine and phantom ship, in the other was the silent 
bay out of which bright colored fish were leaping in all 
directions. Before us lay another day of cruising among 
the Keys further south, filling the soul with the interest 
of exploration and adventure. No wonder we were all 
in love with this Romance country and, with a philoso- 
pher of old, " counted only such days as are serene." 

I wonder sometimes why the isles of the A'.gean Sea, 
those of Scotland and of the South Seas should have such 
a big part in the literature of the world, while in some 
respects these Florida Keys are just as rich in historic 
and human interest and from the point of romantic 
beauty unsurpassed anywhere in the world. Here lies 
the material for the romantic historian and novelist and 
poet of the future. Not only is all this country inde- 
scribably beautiful and interesting from a native point 
of view, but every isle and every cove has its legend of 
historic value — which some day will be woven into 
America's finest and best literature. 

I have no false intent to redeem Long Key from its 
centuries of oblivion. Hundreds of years before Co- 
lumbus came, it was the same clean, tropical strip of 
land, ly'ng like a poem, an idyl, a song, off the Florida 
coast, forming a kind of breakwater for the parent 
shores, and fixing a kind of safe water route for the 
draft of brave, adventurous sailors who came this way. 



56 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

It lies south of our resting place, described above, and 
is the most beautiful strip of land in the world — lying 
full length like an Amazon — in the tropic sun, with its 
white beaches on the east and its safe, quiet coves and 
harbors on the west. When the troubled sailor comes 
into this haven of safety he always kneels and thanks 
the gods that be for the protection of this strong, tree- 
covered island of the tropics. Along its western shores 
are seen rude crosses which have been set up by fright- 
ened toilers of the sea, who have found a haven of safety 
here, and who have left these mute symbols of their 
gratitude. 

But in my enthusiasm for the beauty of this country, 
which throws its enchanting glory over the heart of every 
poetic soul, I am forgetting the story of Zola, which I 
started out to tell you. 

When we left Angel Fish Key we went slowly south- 
ward, first through Card Sound and then into Blackwater 
Bay. Life was so much of a dream that days did not 
count. We drifted like irresolute souls, caring not 
where the next night's lodging should be, nor where an- 
other day, like its sister, yesterday, should take us. 

One afternoon — it was a Tuesday — we anchored in 
Blackwater Bay to make some repairs to the yacht and, 
for diversion, I went ashore. It has always been a fad 
of mine to explore new islands, when cruising, no matter 
how small they may be, and write down in my journal 
what I found on each. I have done this for years, all 
around Florida, but somehow I had missed this one par- 
ticular spot, and when I went ashore, was surprised to 
meet an old man, who welcomed me with much cordiality. 

He had built a comfortable shack, midway between 
the sea and the bay, with two small sleeping rooms and 
a screened porch. He invited me up to his simple home 
and introduced me to his only companion, Zola Gordon, 
a girl of about nineteen. As the repairs to my boat 
would require several days he asked me to be his guest, 



AN IDYL OF LONG KEY 57 

but noting the rude accommodations of his simple home, 
I told him I should be glad to come every day but 
thought it best to make the yacht my home during the 
delay. 

One of my crew had told me that Gabriel Gordon lived 
somewhere on Long Key, that he had committed some 
crime many years ago in one of the Carolinas and came 
there, with his only child, to escape prosecution. The 
old man, therefore, became an interesting character to 
me and I found myself going over to his place every 
morning and spent most of the day there — talking to 
these two people who lived so away from all the world. 

The old man, while talkative, was non-committal and 
said little about his past life. The girl had evidently 
been schooled to the same secrecy. She was now a 
woman, in this wild, vile place, with no associates, except 
her father — and the pitiful fate of Zola Gordon ap- 
pealed to me in a very strong manner. Little by little 
I drew from her some incidents of her life on the island, 
but beyond the time of her coming, when she was twelve, 
the girl would say nothing whatever. 

Soon I found, however, from both father and daugh- 
ter, that over a year back they had one guest, a young 
man — consumptive — and it was for his use the little 
screened porch had been added to the hut. He remained 
a year — making only one trip while there, and that to 
Key West to meet some northern friends on their way 
to Cuba. But soon after returning from this trip this 
young New Yorker met a tragic end. While fishing 
one afternoon, on the far side of Blackwater Bay, a sud- 
den storm upset his boat and the bright young man was 
lost before aid could reach him. 

But I soon learned from Zola Gordon that her guest, 
for the one short year, had left a life impression upon 
her heart, and changed her from a happy, careless girl, 
into a woman of serious intent. The young man, in his 
loneliness and desperation had fallen in love with this 



58 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

wild young girl of the Keys. This passion he had 
smothered for months and did not have the courage to 
tell her until he wrote her a long letter from Key West, 
on his memorable trip there. In that letter he poured 
out a soul full of love, long pent up, and made of Zola 
Gordon a different person from the day his letter was 
given her by the Soldier's Key mail carrier, as the mail 
boat slowed up at the Long Key landing. 

I coaxed a long time to get the secret from this shy 
girl of the wilds. She was slow to tell me about the af- 
fair which had changed her entire life. She had told me 
that Edmund Russell, while a tenant of their simple 
home, was a writer and a painter, a young man with 
plenty of means, but who had chosen to live in that lonely 
country, in the hope of regaining the health, which was 
well nigh wrecked when he arrived. At his sudden 
death, all of his effects had been sent to his people in 
New York and she had nothing left of his work on the 
island except a few sketches about the personality of 
flowers, which he had written out in a clear hand and 
given her the original copies. Some of these sketches I 
herewith copy from the original manuscript, for they are 
interesting and, belonging to the great class of post- 
humous literature, will appeal to my reader. The fol- 
lowing sketches were the only ones she could find. 



THE ROSE 

" The Rose, stateliest of all flowers, typifies royalty, 
caste, blood, fame, court life, princesses, and royal 
beauty. As these are of so many different types, so the 
rose runs a long gamut of regal variety. Here are the 
famous crimsons, emblems of passionate women, who 
have ruled the world through the whim of womanly 
beauty and womanly instinct. These are they who have 
influenced and swayed the souls of kings — the women 



AN IDYL OF LONG KEY 59 

whose smile has meant rescue or ruin of an empire and 
all of its people — women, whose imperious influence 
has made the pages of history different from what they 
might otherwise have been. Then there are the lesser 
blossoms, the sisters in this flower world of royalty, the 
shy, sweet blooms, types of those who have ruled the 
world through womanly devotion to some just cause. 
We see them blooming along our hedgeways and 
pluck them, unconscious of their royal importance. 
Herein dwell the spirits of the gentle types of woman- 
hood, who moved in the halls of rulers, but whose in- 
fluence was always exerted for good, just as this pure 
white blossom, or this cream Killarney stands for a prin- 
ciple of uprightness and justice. It is a wonderful study 
— this placing in the heart of every rose the soul of a 
woman, well known in history — whose acts, either for 
good or evil — has influenced the world through all 
the ages. 

THE ARBUTUS 

" This trailing Arbutus, blooming amid the cold and 
frost and snows of the early part of the year, typifies 
the ashes of novitiates and nuns. These are they whose 
lives have been wrecked by a wrong crossing of love, who 
would make all beings happy. But somehow his mission 
has been lost and these unfortunate women, beautiful 
specimens of Eve, their mother, have left the world to do 
penance, in solitude, to do penance for some supposed 
wrong. Typical of these, the Arbutus blooms amid the 
forest and snows of the late winter, so that suffering may 
be all the keener, and the mis-led heart, cleansed of some 
of its supposed sins. We find it blooming in the wood- 
lands even before the snows have melted. The heavy 
perfume is symbolic of motherhood's sweetness and yet 
all of this is wasted in the barren wilds of the forest. 
All of which should teach us that character cannot be 
changed, until God himself recreates the soul. People 



6o DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

will remain the same. Into no soul can morality be in- 
stilled by forceful means or by legislative enactment. 
The trailing Arbutus stands for a claim that is wrong, 
though the idea is a beautiful one. 

THE DAISY 

" Here is the field Daisy, the ashes of Myrrha — the 
mother-wife; the woman who makes the home. This 
one flower is the emblem of the greatest power in all the 
world, silent, it is true, but a power unapproached and 
unequaled. The mother-wife makes the home and the 
homes of a nation are its strength, or its weakness. She 
is the mother who nurses the world's kings, its rulers, 
its reformers and educators — its criminals and degen- 
erates, its men who build up and its men who pull down. 

" In the glory of a summer day no flowers exist as rap- 
turously as the field daisy. It will flourish on any hill- 
side or in any meadow. Its requirements are few. 
Give it sunshine, soil, a little rain and each blossom is 
perfect. It is non-complaining, as the mother, whose 
life it interprets; it has no glory of color or statellness — 
just a plain field daisy, with all the attributes of the 
woman, who, in rocking the cradle, rocks the world. 
And yet so few people ever give this simple flower the 
credit to which it owes so much to itself and the world. 
Its petals of white are symbolic of the mother-wife 
purity, and its heart of gold typifies her unselfish devotion 
to all that is best in the world. 

THE TUBE-ROSE 

" The tube-rose has come to us from all ages as 
the incarnation of dead souls, why, I do not know, 
and yet its subtle perfume suggests the close air, in the 
room where some one lies in the last, long sleep. A 
dead soul is not in keeping with our philosophic belief in 
the hereafter, yet we must write the history of these 



AN IDYL OF LONG KEY 6i 

blossoms as tradition gives it to us, even should its treat- 
ment not be in keeping with our personal belief. 

" The dead soul is one, whose existence has ended. 
For it there is no hereafter, no future career, no im- 
mortality. Sad must be the heretic who clings to this 
theory, that when our bodies die, the light of our souls 
is extinguished as well. And yet the tube-rose portrays 
this one thought — this one idea — of an ending from 
which there can be no resurrection. 

" It teaches a theory that clashes sharply with our 
modern ideas of a future and leaves the human heart 
scant comfort; and a religion that is hardly worth while. 
But this timid flower, hard of cultivation and shy in all 
its habits, clings to the theory that its thick, heavy per- 
fumed petals hold the resting place of souls undone, 
souls that are dead, souls that once hoped for immor- 
tality and yet were consigned to this inconspicuous flower 
as the future place of abode. 

THE JASMINE 

" The Jasmine typifies the saddest of all flowers, for 
it comes from the poisoned dust of women who have 
sinned — those who have walked the scarlet road — 
women of the crimson world, those whom the world, in 
its innocence, has damned and often misjudged. These 
are they over whose curly locks the red light falls, the 
hair which a doting mother once kissed with all the 
idolatry of an Eastern worshiper — the women whose 
little knees once knelt at a mother's side to repeat an 
evening prayer — now alone, in the cold, pitiless world 
— without hope and without stay — save what the poor 
excuse of temporary excitement can give. Dear Jas- 
mine flower, poisoned dust of women who have sinned, 
bloom for those whom the world calls lost, but whom 
God shall rescue with the many Magdalenes who anoint 
his feet, in womanly humility, with the most precious 
thing their scanty coins can buy. Ye blossoms of rich 



62 DREAMS IN THE OPEN 

perfume, ye bloom in the secluded part of the swamp 
and forest, but ye are always a symbol of that unfor- 
tunate, whom the world cannot help but love, and the 
fragrance of your blossoms shall reach, even unto the 
heavenly gate, and bless the fallen whose ill fortune 
ye typify — " 

Here the description was broken off suddenly — as if 
more had followed, but was either lost or destroyed. 

We had read these little sketches late in the afternoon, 
under the tall cocoanut trees, which guard the coast on 
the Bay side of Long Key and near the Gordon home. 
The girl was excited as I read the few, clearly written 
pages to her. When I finished she looked at me, with 
her clear gray eyes and said: — 

" Don't you think the language is beautiful?" 

I told her it was and most of all the sentiments were 
those of a dreamer, and idealist, one who has little place 
in a big, rough world, where people are scrambling for 
money, for position and for power. 

" That was Mr. Russell," she said. " He was well 
born and had plenty of money, but he shunned the people 
who made display of their wealth. He could just as 
well have lived up there " — pointing to Miami, " or 
at Palm Beach, but he did not like the show. He chose 
to live here, with Dad and me, in this out-of-the-way place 
and all the time he was happy." 

" But what of the letter he sent you?" I asked. 

"Ah! that is too sacred!" she replied. "I have 
never shown it to any one — not even Dad — though 
I have told him what was In it — but do you know, since 
he went away from us my life has been changed — and 
— I am going to St. Augustine to enter a convent. I 
have made it all clear to Dad and he has agreed. I am 
getting my things ready now. It is an awful sacrifice 
from the life I had hoped for — but there is nothing left 
for me. Dad is to marry one of these Conch's soon and 



AN IDYL OF LONG KEY 63 

what is there for me? I shall go away from the world 
and the only sweet thing that shall follow me, will be the 
memory of the six months before that tragedy out there 
in the bay." 

There was a tenderness in the girl's voice which 
touched my very soul. Just then a boat came to the 
sandy shore, near which we were sitting, and one of my 
crew informed me that all repairs had been made and 
the Captain awaited my orders to proceed. 

After the friendly parting and when I was well under 
way to the yacht, I looked back and Zola Gordon waved 
her hand in a good-by, which I shall never forget. 
There was the lone figure on the shore, with its over- 
shadowing palms and its background of blooming hibis- 
cus. I kissed my hand to the lonely girl. For her, life 
was ended — and yet within was a great soul, full of 
love, ardor, Inspiration and devotion to the cause of 
love, which for her was forever lost. The memory of 
that lone figure — and what it portrayed — will live 
with me to the end of life. It was a picture never to be 
forgotten. 



TWILIGHT ON THE MARSH 

It is twilight on the marsh, the dim ending 

Of a long sweet day, now weary of golden sunshine, 

And yellow spun dreams, all full of romance and love. 

From the early waking of the gray dawn, 

Out there, over the calm waters of the gulf, 

When the first hungry gull flew seaward. 

Until this wistful twilight hour. 

Each moment has been filled with the glory of perfection: 

A day with the thoughts of old, sweet memories in its eyes. 



LITTLE SERMONS FOR EVERY-DAY LIVING 

YOUTH AND AGE 

I 

A star comes up with the dawning 

And one in the evening sky ; 
One has its path through the blue to run, 

And one, with the day, must die. 

II 

Youth looks at the star of the dawning 

But Age at the star in the west; 
Youth hurries, his long, sweet race to run. 

But Age asks only rest. 



GATES OF TWILIGHT 

Close gates of twilight ; leave me with the night, 
To counsel take and set my soul aright 
Of errors that beguiled me in the light, 

This e're I seek repose. 
Close with the softness of an angel's tread, 
Leaving without no deeds of wrong to dread, 
No spoken word that I might wish unsaid; 

Dear gates of twilight, close. 



THE GOOD-NIGHT KISS 

When lights are lowered in the hall, if we 
Into the Future's hidden face could see 

And know that but a little span remains 
How tender would the good-night kisses be! 



A PRAYER 

Dear God, when day runs swiftly in its might, 
With all its glitter and its gaudy haze, 
Its mockish pretense and o'er crowded ways, 

My baser self stalks proudly up the height, 

And I forget Thy constant, watchful sight. 

That, like a sentry, ever with ine stays: 

But when the night draws close its ebon veil. 
To hush the laughter and the noisy shout. 
And silence fills the empty street without, 

I see Thy stars beyond the tumult sail, 

Lo! then I turn repentant, sad and pale 

To plead Thy blessing ere the lights go out ! 



THE LIFE SERENE 

There is an old Roman saying, cut into many of their 
ancient altars and monuments, " I count only those hours 
which are serene." 

To most people the words have little meaning, but to 
those who think and plan for a richer and fuller life they 
are the essence of wisdom itself. 

The life serene, alas, is that which but few seek and 
which even fewer find. It is the life elusive, so jealous, 
that only those who are sincere may enter through its 
secret door and dwell within, where the soft light of 
peace shall fall like a benediction. 

This coveted existence may be attained partly through 
a study of poetry and art, especially the former. The 
value of poetry to us, is, that it releases from the every- 
day work, the work of sham and show, pretense and 
prejudice — the world of greed, anxiety and irritating 

67 



68 LITTLE SERMONS 

ambition, and brings to our vision those glimpses of 
ideality and serenity which are so welcome to every weary 
spirit. 

While poetry phantomizes, in a measure, our outlook, 
it nevertheless, if closely read and studied, stabilizes our 
souls in the realm of things beautiful and things serene. 
The poet and the artist have the same mission — to 
gratify the soul through the eye of the intellect. The 
study of poetry and the study of art, if diligently fol- 
lowed, will lead the earnest seeker after the serene life 
into the desired haven more quickly than anything else. 
Poetry is at its best when it elucidates, in the fewest 
words, the impression intended to be conveyed, leaving 
the reader's mind to fill-in those parts which have been 
merely suggested. 

Once I sat in an art gallery, attracted by the beauty 
of a famous picture which I had never seen before. 
About the canvas I wove all kinds of beautiful images, 
one suggesting another, until an hour had gone before 
I realized its passing. But when I left I found a new 
impression upon my soul — the serene beauty of the pic- 
ture had wrought its influence upon my restless spirit 
and for years afterwards I found it possible, in hours of 
strenuous living, to recall the quiet beauty of that paint- 
ing and subdue my restlessness into sympathy with it and 
its calming influence. 

In this age of hurry and anxiety it is diflicult to bring 
our lives into the gentle path of serene living — and yet 
the doing of this is not impossible. To attain this, how- 
ever, we must open our souls to the things which will 
help. A close study of poetry and its quieting effect 
upon our lives will do more than anything else. 

Through a study of poetry we reach the ideals of 
beauty, which has its direct quieting effect upon the soul 
and upon our outward life as well. It is not enough 
to have poise alone. Poise may have a studied effect 
and be used for a purpose. But a study of poetry — 



THE LIFE SERENE 69 

that Is the earnest study of its influence upon the feehngs 
and a hberal reading, will do wonders to lead us into 
that land of the serene and content which should be the 
desire of every thinking man and woman. 

To get the most out of this, however, one must have 
the soul clean swept of prejudice and the accumulations 
of worldly sin. In place of these old idols we must set 
up new ones of love, charity and a desire to live the best 
which our capabilities permit. The closer study we give 
to great poetic works, thus filling our minds with lofty 
thoughts and ideals, the more will our souls be imbued 
with that serenity which is the end we so devoutly seek. 

Lafcadio Hearne, in describing an isolated section in 
an almost unknown part of Japan, said that the " lone- 
someness of the place was so intense that it seemed as if 
no prayer had been offered in that valley for a thousand 
years." The thought is wonderfully beautiful and ar- 
tistic and fixes a picture in the heart, which cannot be 
easily forgotten. 

Poetry has the effect of phantomizing and idealizing 
life. Its world is the world of vision which knows no 
limit and its seas flow on beyond all boundaries of our 
known geography. 

It is the opposite of all things known, of all things fa- 
miliar — hence its attractiveness to exclusive souls — the 
real aristocrats In the world of higher living. It knows 
reality, but deals also with the mystic and the spectral. 
It shows you the full blown peachtree, standing out like 
a vision In the April sunshine; it paints the picture of an 
ingle-nook where Love has set up his altar for everlasting 
worship; it opens the heart of the penitent where sin has 
been confessed and where the joy of forgiveness has 
come in to take the place of sorrow; even the hunger of 
an outcast soul it paints, and spreads upon the landscape 
of hill and sky the glories of a day in June. 

Poetry will take you Into the out-of-the-way places 
of the desert and show you the full-blooming almond tree. 



70 LITTLE SERMONS 

in the water-blessed oasis, surrounded by the withering 
heat of a tropical sun. 

It will open to you the soul of sin, red with the stain 
of crime, and reveal to you the serenity and peace which 
comes to the penitent, who has sought the pity of the 
Master. 

Is there anything else in life, the study of which can 
so surely lead us into the paths of serenity and peace, 
as the study of this one great art, the crowning of all 
arts? 

We are all sensuous, physical, full of the old Adamic 
nature and this is well. It is all the better that we know 
our limitations and know the temptations to which we 
are subjected. The cup, containing the wine of life is 
forever held up before us, from which we are asked to 
drink. The siren hand holds forth the apple, just the 
same, as of old. The human is always with us. Life 
would not be worth while without its temptations. 

To have lived the human, with all its carnality and 
sensuous endearments and then to have passed into that 
other sphere of serene ideality — is the supreme end 
of human experience. 

Life is enriched through the many things we do. Yet 
man can only be hurt by the harm he does himself. 
Outside of himself, no one can rob him. No one can 
take away from him the things which he determines to 
keep. 

And if he trains his soul in the love of poetry and art 
— so that his feet may walk in the smooth pathway of 
right, holding firmly to the things he has learned from 
the great teacher, experience, then he shall find the road 
of serenity ever growing more serene; and life shall be- 
come to him a great benediction of peace. 

The real artist can see a star where other mortals see 
darkness only. The song of the swamp robin meant 
nothing to the thousands who had heard it sing in the 
marshes of Georgia, but when Sidney Lanier listened to 



THE LIFE SERENE 71 

it he heard a symphony of sounds, which he interpreted, 
upon his flute, into the most entrancing music. 

Cultivate, especially, the eye and the ear. Look for 
color and beauty everywhere, listen for melody wherever 
you go or wherever you happen to be. The sight of a 
glorious sunrise will lighten the toil of the entire day — 
the glory of a cloud-flecked sunset will bless the silence 
of the night watches. 

The great value of poetry to us is that it releases us 
from the actualities of life and sweeps us into the realm 
of the ideal; it takes us away from the discordant noises 
of trade and throws about us the ethereal mist of vision 
and romance. Then, too, it softens the heart and the 
sensibilities, making us more susceptible to spiritual in- 
fluences and spiritual impulses. 

Poetry is the one thing in life which takes us away 
from its actualities and gives our poor, starving souls 
a taste of spirituality. In this respect the great majority 
of people allow themselves to go through life famished 
for the lack of one of the strongest demands of their 
natures. Not a day passes but millions of souls cry out 
for serenity and peace, but they cry in vain. The clamor 
of trade and the noise of the street smother the still 
small voice which asks for bread and is given a stone. 
Souls are starved for the want of this spiritual nourish- 
ment which can be so easily given. 

God pity the man or the woman who lives entirely in 
the real: — Into whose life the soothing influence of 
poetry and romance plays no part and whose soul never 
feels the blessed touch of spirituality. 



II 

IDEALS IN THE SPIRIT OF HIGHER LIVING 

It is most regrettable how far below our real capabili- 
ties the average person of intelligence lives. Perhaps 
the responsibility for this rests at the door of ignorance 
— our ignorance of what great glory hfe has to offer and 
bestow upon us, if we only reach forth our hands to re- 
ceive It. 

Life is such a wonderful thing, such a precious thing, 
that few of us realize Its worth until the longer end of 
the journey lies behind us, with the little doubtful span 
ahead, all crowded with the things we wish to do. Not 
until we fully value the actual worth of this thing we call 
life, not until we are made to know that each new day Is 
tensioned with possibilities for happiness and accom- 
plishment, can we arise to that sublime height of living 
to which the gift of existence entitles us. When once 
we come Into the full realization of this fact, then, and 
not until then, will our souls arise to the occasion of ac- 
complishment, and henceforth, until the end of the jour- 
ney, we shall live those great ideals in the spirit of poetic 
beauty which the Master intended should be the crown- 
ing thing In our mortal existence. 

" Each day shall bring both gladness and its cares — 
Each dawn its silvered light of hope 
And twilight, too, its blessing and its prayers." 

It Is difficult to make this problem clear to those who 
have not thought seriously upon the subject. As mortals 
we are too Inclined to listen to the siren songs of pleasure 
and personal gratification as we sail along over the waters 

72 



THE SPIRIT OF HIGHER LIVING 73 

of life, even though some, like the old Greek hero, may 
pretend to stop their ears to the bewitching music. The 
love of the carnal is so strong in our Adamic nature, 
and the outstretched hand, with the apple, is so ever- 
present, that one must have the resolute will and the un- 
temptable soul not to stumble upon these rocks in the 
human pathway and arise to those heights where the 
clear sunlight of ideal existence shines. 

To do this requires strength of soul and the drawing 
of logical conclusions for one's ultimate happiness. No 
weakling has a showing in this contest and where weak- 
ness is a natural inheritance this must be overcome by 
the development of a resolute will and a determination 
to forego a carnal for a spiritual happiness. 

One result of this new life is to take away from our 
souls the fear and dread of Death. When we have 
learned this lesson of higher living that grim creature 
loses his ghostly face and becomes a comrade, whom we 
shall meet at the end of the journey, not with fear, but 
with a willingness to follow the will of the great Master 
into whatever new paths he may have directed our feet. 
We shall live in constant anticipation of the great ad- 
venture which lies just ahead of us, knowing, from a keen 
sense of our immortality, that we are going out into a 
new existence, entering which we shall say: — 

" Into thy face, O Death, when thou shalt call 
I'll look with calmness and a welcome hand; 
Thy presence naught my spirit shall appall 
As we go forth into the unknown land. 

" As we go forth, adventurers, you and I, 
Seeking the by-ways which no mortals know 
Like comrades we shall journey far and high 
Sharing one fate, as friends, and not as foe! 

" What vast extent our winged flight shall take 
I cannot tell, but thou shalt be my guide; 



74 LITTLE SERMONS 

And lo! I feel this comradeship will make 
Our hearts as one, beyond the great divide." 

And when this ideal of higher living has been reached, 
when the fear of death has been eliminated and we look 
forward to the other life, that lies ahead, with increasing 
interest, then, and not until then, have we achieved the 
victory, which the Master intended should be ours. 
Henceforth the pathway shall be smooth and every day 
shall pass as a new page in this interesting book, of ex- 
istence, the story of which must increase for us, the 
further we go into its mysteries. 

Life, dear reader, is but a mystery for you to solve out 
of your own knowledge and out of the experience of 
those who have studied its intricate ways. You shall 
know its fullness and its glory only after you have 
cleansed your soul of sin and doubt and fear, and through 
this cleansing have arisen to those Imperial heights of 
ideality, which belong to you by inheritance, as a kins- 
man of the gods. 

To make clearer this thought in which every sane man 
and woman must have a personal interest, because it 
concerns everyone, we must go back into the folios of 
literature and learn from that source the great lesson 
from the lives of others. There we find examples that 
illustrate and make clear this wonderful thought of liv- 
ing ideals in the spirit of poetic beauty and while the 
examples given are necessarily taken from the lives of 
great men and women they no less illustrate the possi- 
bilities open to every one, no matter how limited his 
talents and capabilities. 

The life of Robert Browning stands out as a most 
typical example of what is meant by living a life of the 
highest ideals and what glory it brought to that immortal 
singer. When he first met Elizabeth Barrett, Browning 
was one of the most courted men in England. He had 
already won undying fame by his poetry — his name was 



THE SPIRIT OF HIGHER LIVING 75 

upon every lip; he was dined, courted and worshiped 
everywhere. When he met the ugly little Barrett 
woman, then an invalid and very poor, the daughter of an 
unknown and erratic country parson, he turned away 
from all the glory which London was ready to shower 
upon him in the way of a brilliant marriage and sought 
the hand of the unknown country girl. Browning had 
seen some of Miss Barrett's poems and saw in her in- 
tellect the comradeship which his soul was seeking. 
Henceforth he turned away from the gilded path which 
had stretched out before him and chose a life with this 
invalid and physically unattractive little woman instead. 
And yet the reward was great, as all of Browning's fu- 
ture proved. He chose to live his ideals in the poetic 
spirit of beauty, which the woman whom his intellect 
worshiped, rather than to go that easy path of sensual 
pleasure which the other roadway so abundantly offered. 
The result was a happy Browning, happy because he had 
chosen to sacrifice the carnal for the spiritual — and out 
of this happiness came those works of artistic beauty 
which have immortalized the age in which he lived. 

If we open that splendid book, outlining the life and 
ideals of Daniel Gabriel Rossetti, the famous painter- 
poet, we find an example not unlike the one just quoted 
in many respects, and certainly an example where faith- 
fulness to high ideals marked a life of varied experiences. 
He too was famous as painter and poet in London, but 
when he saw the beautiful face of Elizabeth Siddall one 
day while walking the streets with his mother, he felt 
that his eyes had met those of the one woman in all the 
world for him. She was poor, and of unknown family, 
but Rossetti sought an introduction and married her soon 
afterwards. This face he made famous in many of his 
great pictures and immortalized Elizabeth Siddall 
through that greatest of all poems, " The Blessed 
Damozel." The love he bore the woman was such 
that when she died the manuscript of the poem he buried 



76 LITTLE SERMONS 

with her; and not until seven years afterwards was this 
famous literary document rescued from the grave, 
through the insistent entreaties of his friends. Through 
all the after life of almost incessant work, as artist and 
poet, Rossetti was constantly inspired by the hidden in- 
fluence which this beloved woman had exerted upon his 
soul. 

The work of Daniel Gabriel Rossetti, while it had its 
faults, was an inspiration to all those with whom he came 
in contact and his life and effort will always stand out as 
a helpful thing to those who try to reach the higher plane 
of ideal living. In a number of his oil paintings and 
water colors the face of his Beatrice appears — the wife 
of his artist-dreams; the great underlying inspiration of 
all of his best works. 

All of which leads into another line of thought in dis- 
cussing higher ideals in living. For most men and 
women an inspiration is necessary, that is our frail hu- 
man natures require the stimulus of some one to urge 
us up the heights, to the highways of idealism upon which 
the sunlight of God's blessings forever falls. Fortunate, 
however, is man, that such inspiration has been furnished 
by the all-wise design of a great providence, which rules 
and guides our destinies. The love of one woman, the 
face of a little child, or the look of a devoted mother 
will often be more powerful In guiding one's feet Into 
the high-road of peace than all other influences combined. 
Against such Influences, even sin, with all of its glittering 
embellishments, can have no Influence with the resolute 
one, who has set his face towards the right. And blessed 
of all men Is he upon whose soul such an Influence for 
good has cast its hallowed light. 

Perhaps the life of Tennyson offers us the most illumi- 
nating example of exalted living and thinking of any 
single personage in literature. And while his life was 
ideal, in the main, there crept into It some very disquiet- 
ing Influences, which had, for a time, their damaging ef- 




I. ()-,■! Iiiiilili ills lUIiii- iiiiKe /ii'SI/lc tiisrii linii or f'jttdiji 
hearth." 



THE SPIRIT OF HIGHER LIVING 77 

feet upon his happiness, yet left, as a final result, an uplift 
of real worth. For a time, Tennyson's religious hori- 
zon was much beclouded with disturbing doubts. His 
clear, logical mind analyzed things too closely. Looking 
about him at the poverty, sin and suffering in the world 
he naturally asked why these things should be, if one 
great, merciful God had power to prevent them. In the 
domain of his human logic he could find no satisfactory 
answer to this question and for a time his soul was full 
of doubt, skeptical and much disturbed. 

And yet these doubts could not long find an abiding 
place in the great Tennysonian heart. He argued with 
himself that for a thousand years the sun had never 
failed to rise at its appointed hour, the stars to shine, 
the seasons to come and go, the flowers to bloom, the 
birds to sing — spring to follow spring — all ordered 
by some great will, great beyond the power of the human 
intellect to understand. There could be no chance — 
all of these things must have some powerful directing 
spirit to make them do his bidding. And so, when the 
great soul of Tennyson thus analyzed his human doubt, 
as against these ever constant proofs of an all powerful 
directing head of the universe, his soul found peace and 
he ever afterwards walked the highway of idealism, with 
the spirit of poetic beauty always present with him. 

William Morris was erratic, socialistic, and his bril- 
liant intellect made him a notable figure in the literary 
and artistic history of his time. He espoused the cause 
of the poor and vainly spent a large part of his time and 
talent in trying to better their condition. He held up 
to his audience and showed to his readers the miserable 
condition of the poverty-stricken population of his time. 
Through the brilliancy of his appeals he revealed the 
suffering of these wretched people, the clanking chains 
which held them in bondage, the comfortless hovels 
which the world had given them for homes — and, listen- 
ing, one could hear their very groans of misery and de- 



78 LITTLE SERMONS 

spair. But William Morris lived to learn that such 
conditions were not new to his age, that they had always 
existed, that all he could do was to relieve, in a small way, 
what was possible with his own hands and be content with 
that. So out of his stormy invective came the time of 
peace, out of his bitterness at what seemed an intolerant 
age came that restful calm, which followed and blessed 
him to the end of life. 

Misfortune is a great stimulus to spiritual life and 
ideal living. Two familiar characters stand out in the 
annals of our Southern literary history which splendidly 
portray this truth. Both Paul Hayne and Henry Tim- 
rod belonged to that fine old school of aristocrats in 
Charleston, South Carolina, and but for the misfortunes 
which war brought upon them would doubtless have been 
gentlemen of leisure and died without a history. As it 
was, however, the war swept away their fortunes, left 
both penniless and refined the gold that was in their na- 
tures. These men turned away from all selfish wishes 
and walked in the hard, but clear-cut road of duty — 
reaching, through the intercession of misfortune, the 
heights of ideality which gave us such immortal poems 
as " The Pine " by Hayne and " Spring " by Timrod. 
The pure gold was in each heart, yet it required financial 
ruin and a stripping away of all that might tempt to self- 
ishness, in order that the best in these two lovable na- 
tures might be given to the world to guide others into 
the same safe path of fine living. 

From a broad viewpoint Sidney Lanier portrayed in 
his own life this great ideal in human living, perhaps 
more than any figure which stands out from the pages 
of literature. This one man stood absolutely above and 
away from the carnality of existence and even through 
sorrow, poverty and misfortune, walked contentedly in 
the clear sunlight of idealism, which is something akin 
to immortality itself. He gave up the practice of law 
that he might devote his life to the call of music and po- 




" The Soul of Grief is softened throuyh repentant tears. 



THE SPIRIT OF HIGHER LIVING 79 

etry — knowing all the time that in doing this he was 
making a sacrifice that would be fatal to his personal 
comfort. He heard the clear call and, true idealist that 
he was, Lanier answered with childlike willingness, feel- 
ing that he was honored through the intercession of mu- 
sic and the muse. Had he remained at his law work in 
Macon doubtless his personal comfort would have been 
very different indeed — fortune would have smoothed 
the rough places for his feet, but there would never have 
come into his life that spiritual glory which filled his 
soul as the author of " Sunrise " and " The Marches of 
Glynn." 

These examples are given that we may fully under- 
stand the struggles which are almost sure to follow our 
attempt to rise and live the higher life of the idealist. 
And these examples are taken from the lives of those, 
who stand out, as shining lights for us to follow. If 
they could go forth, with all powerful intellects, and after 
crossing these Alpine difficulties, come out into the clear, 
sunny plains of content, then much easier is the task 
for us. 

Those who would walk this road of ideal living — 
who would make the most of life and dwell in that at- 
mosphere so close to immortality, must cleanse their 
souls of human stain and strip their hearts of human 
prejudice. There is no room here for the Pharisee, for 
the hypocritical, for pride, false, or real, for dishonesty, 
for fear, nor yet for those who are weak and wavering. 
It is the highway for strong souls — for those who are 
broad enough to forgive and tender enough to forget. 
Once there was a Magdalene in the story of the Master's 
life. The Master forgave her sin and bid her go forth 
and sin no more. On the day of the crucifixion He for- 
gave the thief at His side. Perhaps the hardest things 
in our human make-up is to reconcile this spirit with our 
ideas of living. Yet if we would reach the blessed 
heights, where the sunlight from heaven is calling, wc 



80 LITTLE SERMONS 

must teach our souls to follow the Master's steps, we, 
too, must welcome the Magdalene and tell the thief that 
we shall journey together to the land beyond. This is 
the spirit of broadness, of liberality and freedom to- 
wards those who have erred, which must come into our 
own lives and be a part of the religion we live and not 
simply profess. 

The dominating note of hope in the world today, a 
stronger love of life and a determination to live up to 
its fullest capabilities, is the one unanswerable argument 
to the pessimist that we are making progress and that 
life today means more to man, than it has ever meant 
before. To the man or the woman who thinks, who 
looks out upon existence and sizes its vast possibilities 
for accomplishments, life never meant so much as it 
means now. All the literature of the past, its art and 
beauty •■ — all the inventions which havte enriched the 
home — all the discoveries in medicine and science — 
make man the wealthier, and naturally make life to him 
more worth while than ever before. 

Therefore, when we come to look upon this little span 
of allowance given us here, and realize its rich possibili- 
ties for happiness, the man or the woman who has the 
wisdom to use this asset to best advantage will not be 
slow to utilize every moment which a benevolent, 
divine being gives for improvement. Every day has its 
possibilities. Every night will bring its reward of blessed 
peace, beside the ingle-nook of home, and even our 
dreams will plan new things we shall do for our fellow- 
man on the morrow. 

Blessed is he and blessed is she who shall arise to the 
height of this intensive living, in which no hour shall be 
lost, in which no opportunity shall be neglected for bless- 
ing the world through which we walk, both for the good 
of our fellow-men and for the good of our own souls! 

And, unless we wish to squander life as a prodigal, to 
waste our substance in a kind of living that brings not 



THE SPIRIT OF HIGHER LIVING 8i 

joy but grief, no other road Is open. There are but two. 
One is the road of right, the other the road of wrong. 
Each will choose his own pathway out of these two, 
either follow the one that finally leads to disaster, or the 
better way that leads into the plains of serenity and peace. 
It does not require the intelligence of a philosopher for 
my reader to decide which roadway he will choose. 



Ill 

THE GENTLE ART OF BEING KIND 

" So many gods, so many creeds — 
So many roads that twist and wind ; 
While just the art of being kind 
Is all the old world needs." 

We are so inclined to selfishness, through our human 
inheritance of sin, that we lose sight of one great art in 
living — the art of being kind. 

The proper exercise of this one virtue means more, 
perhaps, to us and more to others, with whom we come 
in daily contact, than any other one thing in dealing 
with our fellow men. 

The art of kindness is a two-fold virtue, it blesses the 
giver and the receiver alike. One never did an act of 
charity, without receiving a swift reward, one never 
parted with a gift to the needy without the consciousness 
of being richer, far beyond the value of the thing be- 
stowed. 

The world has its many gods, its multiplicity of creeds, 
its devious, winding ways of right and wrong, but when 
life is analyzed and these various claims investigated, the 
real true essence of living is kindness. This is what 
makes sunshine in the world. This is what lifts a fallen 
brother out of his misfortune and puts him upon his feet 
again, this is what will enable the woman who has sinned 
to go forth and live the better life in the spirit of the 
Master — in other words kindness will accomplish more 
than all the legislation in the world, which attempts to 
regulate the morality of a man or a woman by the stern 
and drastic power of law. 

The world has never yet been able to legislate moral- 

82 



THE GENTLE ART OF BEING KIND 83 

ity into a single soul. So long as the old Adamic nature 
is there so long will the desire to err exist. This is im- 
planted so deeply in the make-up of each mortal that no 
outward law can change it. Legislate to regulate the 
habits of a man or a woman and you fail, even before 
your law is passed, because such legislation is impossible, 
on account of the condition with which it has to deal. 
You may by drastic power take away one temptation, 
but so long as human nature remains the same, another 
temptation, even worse than the one you have destroyed, 
will take its place. Human Ingenuity will always devise 
its ways for diversion — always has and always will — 
so legislative enactment to regulate the moral status of a 
man or a woman Is simply a waste of energy and a waste 
of time. 

And yet in the face of this great fact, which stands out 
as clearly In the sunlight of truth, as the blue sky on a 
summer's day, the world is full of would-be-reformers, 
mostly political and of the ultra-fanatical type, who 
would make you believe that religion, reform and right 
living can be fixed in every human soul by legislative 
enactment. 

The would-be-reformers who are abroad in our land 
today represent a class who are the direct antithesis of 
the spirit of kindness, as we understand it, and as taught 
by the great Master two thousand years ago. These 
are now wearing the face of sternness instead of the face 
of benevolence and good-will. They have evolved a new 
creed by which to regulate the morality of the world — 
the power of law and the jail to redeem a man's soul 
from damnation. The underlying motive of these re- 
formers is the very opposite of the gospel of kindness 
which the Master taught and why these new prophets 
of a false doctrine can have so many followers Is only 
explained by the ignorance of the great masses upon 
whose sensibilities they play. 

Perhaps the most powerful among " these wolves In 



84 LITTLE SERMONS 

sheep's clothing " are the cheap politicians of the present 
day. These are the impostors, whose spirit of intoler- 
ance and hypocrisy makes them stand out as the opposite 
of what the spirit of kindness really is and means. Such 
men harangue their audiences with thunderous invective 
upon the depravity of our age, promising, if elected, to 
pass every imaginable law that will put religion into the 
soul of the entire human race and speedily bring on the 
long delayed millennium. And when these men take the 
high office, to which they have been undeservingly 
elected, they start, rampant upon a crusade of reform 
through law-enactment — knowing in their very souls 
that morality was never legislated into a single human 
being. 

The very worst part of this phase of the question is, 
however, that it engenders a spirit of bitterness. More 
than that, it takes on the form of oppression. It sets 
up one class of followers against another, divides a na- 
tion, a state, a community — the direct result being to 
destroy the spirit of kindness, which this old world needs 
far more than the enactment of more laws. Our great 
trouble is that we have too many laws and too little kind- 
ness — too much selfishness and a dearth of benevolence 
— too many Pharisees and not enough Samaritans. 

I sometimes hate the tyranny of law 
Because my love of freedom is so wide. 
The very thought of locks and chains is awe 
To one who has no guilty act to hide. 

I watch the birds about my cottage gate 
And envy all the freedom they possess; 

I see the clouds that swiftly go or wait, 
And wonder why man's freedom should be less! 

But there is another famous character with us in these 
later days — perhaps more dangerous than the cheap 
politician — the self-righteous fanatic. He comes of a 



THE GENTLE ART OF BEING KIND 85 

distinguished lineage, tracing his family-tree back to the 
dark ages of savagery and inhuman persecution. While 
his dress is different from his forefather of the old in- 
quisition days and of the witch-burning New England 
age, yet there is no break in the chain by which he traces 
his family history. He is just as cruel as all of his an- 
cestors, just as intolerant and just as determined to " rule 
or ruin " as were they. Time has not softened his heart, 
experience has taught him no lesson, while mercy and the 
spirit of kindness have no place in his theory of dealing 
with his fellow-men. 

The fanatic is in a class all to himself. He can see 
good in his own soul only — nothing but evil in the hearts 
of others. You must agree with him, or he will fight you 
to the last ditch. Such a thing as tolerance is unknown 
to his nature. He hates bitterly all who oppose him — 
his theory being to rule or destroy. Grant him what he 
asks today and tomorrow his demands will be even 
greater. He hesitates at nothing to carry his point, even 
to the extent of destroying others — if custom and law 
should give him that privilege. 

The fanatic sees only one side of a question. All of 
his own acts are justified, no matter how much at variance 
they be with the views of others. The " holier than 
thou " will put on his sanctified face and will ride for 
miles on a cold Sunday afternoon, in a comfortable hmou- 
sine, but he will oppose, with all his energy, the opening 
of an innocent picture show for the enjoyment of the 
poor workman and his children, who has this one day 
only for recreation. 

Go back over the pages of history as far as the records 
will carry and you will find this character always active. 
He has always given the world trouble and has caused 
humanity more suffering, under the false guise of doing 
good, than all other things combined — not excepting 
the horrors and brutality of war. 

Of all the creatures who infest the world with their 



86 LITTLE SERMONS 

baneful influence, the fanatic came under the Master's 
most emphatic denunciation. The Pharisee, the hypo- 
crite, the false prophet, he classed under one head and be- 
wailed their place in a world where he was trying to 
teach benevolence, kindness and tolerance — the great 
virtues which have no place in the fanatic's creed. 

In a life-long study of these characters, which go hand 
in hand — the political and fanatical — I have never 
yet found one in whose heart the spirit of kindness ruled. 
Instead of this there was the stern demeanor of face and 
a sterner setting of the heart against all humanity — a 
kind of essence of cruelty and vindictiveness which means 
" follow me and my creed, or I shall have you damned." 

Intolerance has always been regarded as the rankest 
of all sins. It is the offspring of bigotry and ignorance 
— two of the vilest parents by which any child could be 
cursed. And yet it stalks through our world today — 
with its " holier-than-thou " countenance, walking arm in 
arm with church and state and with the good and respec- 
table alike — when, in reality. It should be an outcast 
and shunned by all who set any value upon their individ- 
ual respectability. 

When there has once been meted out to the fanatic, 
the bigot, the Pharisee and the intolerant the punishment 
which is their just due, then and not until then, will this 
old world become better; then and not until then will the 
religion of tolerance and kindness come into the souls of 
men; and feet which have been led astray In the paths of 
ignorance will once more walk in the sunny roadway of 
peace and gladness. 

And so, my reader, you who must be trying to do your 
share in the uplift of the world, remember this: — 

" That just the creed of being kind 
Is all the old world needs." 

By following this fundamental doctrine, laid down by 
the Master, you will not only save your heart from com- 



THE GENTLE ART OF BEING KIND 87 

plicity with false theories, but will simplify your religion 
— making your daily life a blessing to those with whom 
you come in contact. Your smile, your honest hand- 
shake, your heart-felt " God-bless-you," to some unfor- 
tunate, is worth more than all the fanatic accomplishes in 
a life-time. You live a religion of " every-day kindness." 
It is not so much the gift, as the spirit in which the gift is 
made. I had rather relieve the poor widow, in her day 
for urgent need, by giving her the bread her suffering chil- 
dren required to sustain life — than to preach a thousand 
sermons upon the sin of humanity. 

I had rather be the man who took the ragged little 
newsboy into a store on Christmas morning and sent him 
out with a new suit, shoes and gloves into the cold winter 
wind than to be the author of the most noted law, whose 
aim was to legislate religion into the souls of men. The 
act of the one was practical charity — that of the other 
was bombastic pretense. 

In the eyes of the Master the Good Samaritan, who 
tenderly helped the man in distress, was a saint to the 
proud, pretending Pharisees who passed on the other 
side of the road. And when the great Teacher asked 
those who were without sin to cast the first stone at the 
woman who had fallen, He enunciated a truth that fixes 
and proves this fact in the philosophy of human kindness. 

Hypocrisy, pretense and deception can have no place 
in the heart where kindness dwells. The soul of the fa- 
natic is so far removed from the spirit of true religion as 
one pole is distant from the other. These baser attri- 
butes in human make-up have no part whatever in the 
spirit of kindness, humanity and benevolence. God's 
curse rests upon the one, while his smile is forever upon 
the other. 

Teach me, O God, 
To love the meek of earth, 
Soft words of kindness, gentleness and mirth ; 
The sea-swept dunes, beside the shore — 



88 LITTLE SERMONS 

The wild, free birds that swiftly soar — 
The waves that sob — the waves that roar • 
The sands that whiten as they dry, 
The mystery of gulls that fly, 
Like souls, forever asking why? 
Teach me the broader faith that heeds 
A human cry, above the wall of creeds — 
That hears the wail of human needs. 



A BAR OF SONG " AND ITS AUTHOR 



A New Book by Henry E. Harman, Together with 
Critical Reviews of his Work. 



Several years have elapsed since we brought out Mr. H. E. Harman's 
last book, " Dreams of Yesterday." Since that time he has done his best 
work — the work of riper experience and finish — all of which is em- 
bodied in this new volume, " A Bar of Song." 

During these two years the critics have passed favorably upon Mr. 
Harman's poetry and have given him a high place in the world of letters. 
That most discriminating of American newspapers, The Boston Tran- 
script, devoted nearly three columns to a review of Mr. Harman's books, 
a part of which article is herein reproduced. Extracts are also given 
from the Atlanta papers, showing how highly his work is esteemed by 
his own people. 

Mr. H. E. Harman's work holds an enviable place in the literature 
of this country and especially of the South. Writing verse has been 
rather a diversion with him. His serious business has been trade paper 
publishing, out of which he has made a conspicuous success in Atlanta. 
And yet in the midst of this busy life, with its keen competition and 
commercial exactions, he has found time to look up at the stars and 
sing with a clear sounding note. " It is rare, in these days of ma- 
terialism," says The Atlanta Constitution, " that a poet sings with suf- 
ficient clearness to draw to him the eyes of the nation, and yet this is 
what Mr. Harman has done." 

It is, therefore, a great pleasure for us to announce " A Bar of Song," 
Mr. Harman's latest and best volume. In the artistic production of this 
we have spared no expense and believe it to be a sample of book-making 
of which any publisher may well be proud. It is beautifully illustrated 
in a most artistic manner, so that both in mechanical production and 
especially from a literary standpoint "A Bar of Song" will add new 
laurels to Mr. Harman's reputation as a writer of exquisite verse. 

THE STATE COMPANY, 

Publishers and Book Sellers, 

Columbia, S. C. 



REVIEW OF MR. HARMAN'S LITERARY 
WORK 



(From The Boston Transcript.) 

I found in Mr. Harman's poetry, not an echo, but a feeling for nature, 
a spiritual passion, though it concerns itself with the humbler things of 
life, that makes the glow in the art of Sidney Lanier. There is much of 
that poignant personal utterance common in both poets, the difference 
being that in Lanier the soul searches throughout the infinite for the 
divine manifestations of peace and beauty, while in Harman the soul is 
content to find in common experiences close at hand the same divine 
manifestations of peace and beauty. 

This more serious thoughtfulness that I have indicated does not neces- 
sarily mean that it is the most significant part of Mr. Harman's art. 
He loves Nature as I have shown, with a passion for her forms and 
colors, her changing aspects of seasons, for her manifestations of char- 
acter in places with which his life has been associated. He does some- 
thing more than use her profuse loveliness to decorate a pretty rhyme; 
he finds in her symbols of deeper things, of the spirit, and of influences 
which touched the heart of humanity. But he brings another message 
to his readers in these poems, such a message as is the essential mood and 
substance in the art of such poets as Longfellow and James Whitcomb 
Riley and Eugene Field. It has its plentiful sprinklings of pathos and 
tenderness and brooding music, but it is the wholesomeness, the ideal of 
aspiring faith, that gives to his songs their heartening and irresistible 
appeal. The poet does not vex his readers with any symbol of phil- 
osophy, but the essence of a philosophy imbues all he sings with a con- 
spicuous and easy grace. 

Yet this quality is only a pathway in Mr. Harman's poetry to the 
crowning heights of his muse where dwells the god to whom his melodies 
and dreams become an oblation. Love is that god, but the poet does not 
conceive him as the popular and irrelevant idol of a light-hearted fancy. 
He becomes the master-passion of the human heart; of which the senti- 
ment that compels man to worship woman, and woman to glorify the 
worship by acceptance, and for which she exchanges in equal measure 
her devotion, is but a part, though it is the most beautiful and vital of 
this passion. This passion comes into all other human relationships as 
well, breathing its perfume of many sentiments, and quieting the emotions 
in the many moods of Mr. Harman's poetry. 

Poetry that has so much deep feeling, so many charming graces of 
expression, in which the rich and varied sentiments of common human 
experience are woven all through with the fragrance and mystery, the 
delightful companionship of nature, is certainly worthy of that wider 
admiration among poetry lovers which it is steadily winning. 



THE MAN AND HIS WORK 



(From The Charlotte [N. C] Observer.) 

Mr. Harman is more happily situated than have been most of his 
fellow-singers. Born amid surroundings which required that whatever 
material comfort he was to enjoy must depend upon his own efforts and 
upon these alone, he early faced the world with shoulders squared and 
teeth set. But from the beginning and throughout his career around 
those set teeth the lips have been curled in a smile which has never for 
a single instant become bitter. Knocks he has had and hard ones but 
he has ever been ready to pick his flint and try again. Thus it is that 
with much of life still before him he has amassed a competency for himself 
and his loved ones and at the same time earned the respect and esteem of 
the business circles in which he moves. This could never have been accom- 
plished except by a combination of unflagging devotion to business and 
keen commercial insight. 

How comes it, then, that this busy man of affairs whose name is a 
synonym over several states for business acumen and indefatigable hard 
work is at the same time a singer of lays as daint>' as my lady's lace 
handkerchief, as sweet as the spring dawns he loves so well, as pure 
as the unclouded heaven ? The answer to the query goes far toward 
explaining the merit of Harman's poetry. Business man he is with a 
living to make; this because Heaven has given him loved ones to support 
and money is needed to support them. But poet he is, not by any man's 
will, but by birth. His message he must give — there is simply no avoid- 
ing the issue. 

Harman's own absolutely sane appreciation of his gift and its relation 
to himself, his friends and the world at large constitutes one of his 
greatest attractions. It is not his intention to strike a new or unheard 
note; he is no Shelley wasting his strength in rebellion against established 
authority, no Byron taking delight in the violation of every convention. 
Our poet's temperament is entirely averse to any sensationalism. Acutely 
sensitive to the beauties of nature — he probably cannot remember a 
time when woods, trees, flowers, sunsets and streams and birds were 
not to him eloquent — he hymns these beauties in music of the most 
lilting rhythm. Upon almost every page of " Dreams of Yesterday " 
his love of nature is manifest. It played a large part in his earlier 
volumes and will remain a delight to him as long as he lives. 



AN ESTIMATE FROM HOME PEOPLE 



" I want to send you my sincere thanks for the great service you have 
done me in sending me Mr. Harman's ' In Love's Domain.' My long ab- 
sence from my native State has caused me to miss Mr. Harman's work, 
and it was a pleasure to find it so beautiful and true. It is not a mere 
versification that I find in this book, but poetry, literature and noble feel- 
ing cast in noble form. I hope you will present my compliments to Mr. 
Harman, and express to him my deep sense of pride in his work and ap- 
preciation of his thoughtfulness." — President Edwin Alderman, Univer- 
sity of Virginia. 

(Editorial from the Atlanta Journal.) 
Whoever prizes the gold of the sun and the green of the fields will find 
treasure a plenty in Mr. H. E. Harman's new book of poems, "The Gates 
of Twilight." In a day when clever conceits and so-called new ideas are 
the fad in verse, it is refreshing to find a man who goes back to primal 
haunts and gives us a song with the old, red, warm blood running' 
through it. Poetry is as old as the stars, and like the stars, too, it is 
forever young. It links all our yesterdays with all our to-morrows. It 
is the savor of old wine, the glow of old wood on the hearthstone, the 
wisdom of old books, the cheer of old friends. 

Such are the themes of Mr. Harman's song. He tells us again out of 
his own heart, and simply, of the things that always have and always 
will mean much to mankind. 

(From The Atlanta Constitution.) 

Signal literary recognition has come to Harry E. Harman, a well- 
known citizen and capitalist of Atlanta, in an extended and favorable 
review recently given Mr. Harman's poetical selections by no less critical 
an authority than The Boston (Mass.) Transcript. The Constitution 
reproduces portions of The Transcript's appreciation, though the entire 
review extends over two columns. 

The Transcript is foremost among American newspapers in its literary 
standards. To the culture of Boston, it adds exacting traditions and 
ideals of its own. The imprimatur of its approval means that a writer 
has " arrived " in a sense truly national. And it is as a national poet, 
nation-wide in vision and horizon, that The Transcript acclaims the 
Atlanta man. 

It is rare, in these days of materialism, that a poet sings with suf- 
ficient clearness to draw to him the eyes of the nation. That is what 
Mr. Harman has done. It is the more notable, in that, like Edmund 
Clarence Stedman, the famous banker-litterateur of New York, he adds 
practical achievement to his remarkable gifts as a poet and a scholar. 

PUBLISHER'S NOTE 

Mr. Harman's books have, perhaps a larger clientele of appreciative 
readers than any living Southern poet has ever enjoyed. The first 
edition of " A Bar of Song " has been largely sold and to make sure of 
a copy, orders should be sent at once. The price is $1.50 per copy 
postage paid. 

Send orders either direct to the publishers or through your local book 
seller. 

THE STATE COMPANY, 

Publishers and Distributors, 

Columbia, S. C. 



